The sky above the broken temple was quiet but the ground was not. Dust floated like ash as two figures stood still in the heart of a dead place. Lucian faced Ian. His long coat moved only a little in the hot wind. His eyes were sharp and cold.

“You want to reach the next stage” Lucian said. “Then you must forget everything you know about control.”

Ian blinked. “The next form… is it more dangerous than Chaos Archangel?”

Lucian gave a slow nod. “It is called Chaotic Evildoer. You will not just hold chaos. You will become it. There will be no mercy in you. Only judgment and destruction.”

Ian looked down at his hands. Chaos energy already moved inside him. He could feel it. It was like fire that listened. But it had not burned him. Not yet.

“What is the difference?” he asked. “Between the Archangel and the Evildoer?”

Lucian walked past him then pointed at the cracked ground. “Chaos Archangel is power that knows its name. It still serves. Still listens. You use it to protect or to fight. You can stop if you want.”

He raised his hand and let dark red energy curl from his palm. It moved like smoke but hissed like fire.

“But Chaotic Evildoer does not stop. It takes. It breaks. It becomes stronger the more you lose yourself. You will not protect anyone with it. You will burn everything just to find what still stands after.”

Ian swallowed. “And how does it look?”

Lucian turned to him again. “Your wings will be sharp like swords. Your armor will crack open like stone. Your eyes will turn black. No glow. Just hunger. The light in you will die.”

Ian asked himself, Is that me? Can I even use that and stay who I am?

Lucian saw the look in his eyes. He gave a small nod. “If you are afraid you are not ready. But if you are curious… then you might become more than ready.”

Ian clenched his fists. I want to see it. I need to know what I can become. Even if it’s ugly.

Two months passed.

Every day Ian woke to pain. Every night he trained until his body dropped. He learned to hold the chaos without shaping it. Learned to let it scream through him and not fight it. Lucian watched in silence. He did not help. He only watched.

One day the sky turned dark without warning. No storm came. Just dark. The ground cracked under Ian’s feet.

He stood alone in the center of the field. His wings were not soft light now. They were broken swords that moved like blades of smoke. His face was cold. His eyes had no color.

Lucian stepped forward. He felt the pressure in his chest. A deep fear he had not felt in a long time.

“You did it” he said. “Chaotic Evildoer… and you are still standing.”

Ian did not answer. He just looked at his hands. They shook a little. Not from fear. From too much power.

I did it he thought. But what happens next?

Lucian gave him a look that almost seemed like pride.

“Now” he said. “You learn how not to destroy the world by breathing.

Suddenly, the wind became dry. The ground had cracks that ran like scars across the dead land. Lucian stood still, with eyes pointed at a certain direction. Ian stood beside him with his new dark wings still half open. The sky was low and gray.

Then something stepped out of the shadows.

It wore a long robe made of black skin. Not cloth. Its arms were too long. Its head was like a mask carved from bone but it moved like it had muscles under it. It was tall. Taller than Lucian. Its feet did not touch the ground. It just floated with no sound.

It looked at Lucian. Not Ian.

“You are not ready to die yet” the thing said. Its voice was sharp. Like it had blades in its throat. “But soon. Very soon.”

Then it turned. It did not fly. It just vanished like it was never there.

Ian blinked. He felt cold. The air had not moved. His wings twitched.

“What was that?” he asked. “Who the hell was that?”

Lucian looked down for a second. Then he turned to Ian.

“That was Varnak” he said. “He was once human. Long ago. A thousand years back he was called Varnak the Divine Hand. He was a priest in the Holy South Sect. They said he could heal with one touch. Blind men saw again. Dead men breathed again. But then…”

Lucian stopped for a second.

“Then the war came. He begged the gods for help. The gods did not answer. He tried to save a thousand people from the burning mountain. He failed. All of them died. His wife. His daughter. Even his dog. All turned to ash while he watched.”

Ian frowned. His hands curled into fists.

“So what did he do after?”

Lucian’s eyes narrowed.

“He cursed the gods. Ripped his own face off. Replaced it with a mask made from the bones of the dead. He ate the hearts of the fallen priests. He became a monster. The robe he wears is made from the skin of high priests. It cannot be burned. It cannot be cut. He walks on air because the ground refuses to touch him.”

Ian asked himself How do you even fight that? Can he be killed at all?

Lucian kept going. His voice lower now.

“His power is called Divine Rot. He speaks one word and the body forgets how to stay alive. You could be strong as a dragon but your heart would still stop if he says the right word. He once killed a giant just by whispering into its ear. It exploded from the inside.”

Ian stared at the empty space where the monster had stood.

“Why did he threaten you?”

Lucian looked straight at him.

“Because I was the one who sealed him last time. And because I am the only one who knows where his true name is kept. If he gets it back he becomes something worse.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep