Under Ares’ lead, the team of Celestials ventured deeper underground, navigating a series of winding tunnels they discovered after leaving the shore of the magma.
Unsurprisingly, after a few moments, the footprints and traces of the Rulers began to blur and then completely disappeared—but the Dark Celestial’s trail remained, so they continued silently, following the dark aura he seemed to have deliberately left behind.
Zami frowned.
"Is it really okay for us to follow him?"
Ares responded after a long pause.
"It’s dangerous—no doubt. But all of us came here to grow stronger. Strength is never handed out freely; it’s always earned by facing what we fear. Like you, I’ve been stuck at my current level, unable to break through. Maybe this path—no matter how perilous—is the trial we need to grow."
Everyone agreed silently.
Gvette, who had been warned by Silver to keep his mouth shut unless he wanted a beating from everyone, trailed behind the group, muttering quietly under his breath.
He understood Ares’s point—true strength was never gained without risk and effort—but... something didn’t sit right with him.
For some reason, he was certain the Dark Celestial—the one Kyle seemed to know—hadn’t left these traces for them. And so, blindly following them felt like a mistake.
His most favorite natural law—the law of fortune—kept flaring with warnings... Ever since they had entered the Layer of Three Ancients and regained the power to utilize the natural laws, it hadn’t brought him any comfort—only a growing sense of unease.
’I just hope we don’t end up as collateral damage... Something big is coming.’
Obviously, he didn’t voice his thoughts to the others—he wasn’t eager to get beaten up if his instincts turned out to be wrong.
The group traveled in silence until a sharp cry echoed ahead, forcing them to pause.
Since no one seemed able to extend their senses too far in this place, they remained undetected as they reached the mouth of a tunnel dimly lit by magma glowing through deep, jagged cracks in every direction—only to stumble upon a blood-drenched scene.
There, bathed in a pool of crimson, stood a familiar man—that Dark Celestial. His body radiated a suffocating darkness, tendrils of corrupted energy leaking from every inch of his skin like smoke. The space around him pulsed with countless tiny purple particles.
Blood splattered the ground, staining the land, and the barely alive Celestial at his feet writhed, choking on his own cries.
His dark eyes were devoid of mercy as he leaned closer to the figure beneath him.
"Where are they?"
He asked, his voice low yet terrifying.
The Celestial beneath him trembled.
"I—I don’t... know. I got separated from the Rulers weeks ago... I am just a servant of the many holder of the crowns. Please—"
He couldn’t finish his sentence. The man crushed his body without hesitation, and before his soul could flee, the shimmering purple particles and darkness in the space surged forward, devouring him—leaving not even a trace of his existence behind.
Azazeal drew in a deep breath as the tiny purple particles and darkness receded into his body, humming with eerie satisfaction after devouring a sixth-stage Celestial. His head throbbed with a pain sharp enough to make him want to claw at it, but he paid it no mind—he was already used to the pain.
"What a waste of time."
His gaze narrowed as he looked ahead. Numerous passages stretched before him.
His other bodies had long since dispersed throughout the area after he was dragged into the ground upon entering the Gate. He no longer had a true ’main body’—each one carried an equal fragment of his soul. Still, he considered the one who had created the other bodies to be his original self.
He raised his hand, tapping each fingertip one by one as if counting something—only to frown when his calculations yielded no results. The method that once allowed him to track everything was no longer working.
It had indeed already weakened after he entered the Celestial Realm, but even then, it still gave him a decent grasp of things—at least when he was sober. Yet after entering the Layer of Ancients, it felt as if his ability to read fate had been completely blocked.
"Strange. This place has severed all ties with fate, yet it remains linked to nature—as if the laws themselves have been twisted, guided by something far older and higher."
His eyes gleamed as he turned toward the passages stretching ahead. After a second, he chose the path none of his other bodies had taken. Regardless, Azazeal didn’t forget to leave a trail behind—subtle but traceable.
A smirk tugged at his lips as his form began to fade into the shadows.
"Come, obediently follow me... I’ve crafted a hundred-thousand-year prison of agony for him. To break a young Celestial like you—a hundred years will be more than enough."
Just as he vanished, Ares and the others—who had been holding their breath across from him—finally exhaled. Yet the pounding of their hearts betrayed their unease. None of them felt calm after hearing his words.
A hundred-thousand-year prison of agony?
What the hell was that?
Just the name alone was chilling.
Moreover, it was clear the final part of his last sentence had been directed at Kyle.
This man was anything but sane.
Cassian looked at the now-empty, dimly lit space where a powerful Celestial had been screaming just moments ago. But nothing remained of him. His lips stretched faintly as his mind raced with many possibilities.
"He’s devouring flesh, blood, soul... even another’s consciousness completely. Just how far is he willing to go to kill his enemy? No wonder his darkness runs so deep."
Seeing the gleam in his crimson eyes, Ares immediately smacked Cassian on the head, snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts.
"Don’t even dare to think about it."
His eyes narrowed with a sharp glint, and Cassian instantly understood—Ares already knew. He knew he was a Dark Celestial. The weight of that knowledge hung heavy for a moment. Then, he gave a hurried nod, but inside, his thoughts swirled like a storm.
He was already dissecting what he had seen and trying to understand and grasp the ability—how Azazeal had devoured another to grow stronger. It was brutal.
Merciless. But it worked.
Power was power, no matter the means.
Cassian clenched his fists.
If someone like him could reach such terrifying heights, why couldn’t he? He had long since abandoned his morals—burned them away with everything else he’d lost.
So what was one more sin?
What was devouring a few others compared to claiming true strength?
If darkness was the path to power... he’d walk it without hesitation. He had a goal, and he was sure that if he went as far as Azazeal, he would achieve it much sooner.
He would be able to kill Nathaniel.
Another strong smack landed on his head, instantly snapping him out of his thoughts and wiping the faint smirk off his face.
Ares’s eyes were dark.
"Stop grinning like a demon. It’s getting on my nerves. Kyle is enough to give us all a headache right now—don’t you start too."
Cassian’s eyes flickered with a cold glint before he quickly changed the topic.
"Let’s stop following the dark trail."
This time, no one spoke. Without a word, they all turned and entered a passage far from the one Azazeal took, as if they knew that continuing down it would be perilous.
A few days after the group left, a familiar silver-haired figure staggered out from the sea of magma far behind them. Kyle cursed and, with a flick of his fingers, changed his clothes and regenerated his scorched hair.
"So, there are only two options. One—I find and follow the others, letting them create a safe path for me. Two—I lose this body at the hands of those damn marble statues."
Obviously, he hadn’t escaped unscathed.
For the past few days, no matter which direction he disappeared into after finding the ring of doors and statues, he somehow kept ending up in the same cursed spot.
It was as if the place were toying with him—trapping him in a loop with no way out. In the end, with no other option left, he chose to face the statues head-on. Cautiously, he stepped onto the land and first slowly bent down to gather the flowers and shimmering plants scattered around. But to his surprise, the statues didn’t move—not even a twitch.
Only their eyes moved.
Encouraged, he grew confident.
But who was he kidding? The moment he tried to approach the nearest sealed door, one of the statues sprang to life with such terrifying speed that, in the blink of an eye, Kyle was struck and sent hurtling through the air into the mist, coughing up blood.
Lying there, groaning, he muttered.
"Figures. Figures. Guess I have no choice but to go back and help Cassian and the rest. They must be very lost without me."
With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and dusted off his clothes, wearing a look of concern—for his endangered friends.
But he didn’t forget to make one last dash toward the statues—carefully avoiding the sealed doors now that he knew what could trigger his end—and scooped up anything valuable in the area, tossing it all into his mind space like a seasoned scavenger.
Then, he began his search for a way back.
It took a frustratingly long time to make sense of the twisted directions and realize the mist around him carried the power of the Law of Deception. But eventually, he managed to carve out a path and escape.
He had even managed to memorize the paths that would let him avoid the statues.
Now, all he had to do was assist his dear friends and let them take the lead—until his original body arrived here to lend a hand.