Cain’s eyes blazed as he felt the immense surge of energy coursing through him. It was vast—so overwhelming that even his heightened perception struggled to fully grasp it. This was not power that could be shaped casually. It demanded sacrifice. And Cain, without hesitation, paid the price.

What remained of his soul force, life force, and will began to burn, turning his body into something akin to a scarlet sun blazing in the void.

"Serpent of shadow, coil and rise,

Ancient one beneath dead skies.

Breaker of sun, devour the light,

Unmake the world in endless night."

Each word he spoke consumed more of his essence, but with every syllable, that boundless energy began to take shape. His voice carried authority, pain, and unbreakable resolve, echoing across the battlefield like a decree of fate itself.

His eyes shone with fierce determination as he roared:

"Chaos of Mythology: Apophis, the World Ender!"

In the next instant, the Wings of Chaos expanded and twisted, their form distorting as if reality itself struggled to contain them. In a single heartbeat, they transformed into something far more terrifying—a colossal serpent forged from shadow and lightning.

The creature was gargantuan beyond comprehension. Its body stretched across the void like a living catastrophe, its scales shifting between darkness and crackling energy. Its maw alone was vast enough to swallow entire worlds, radiating an aura of absolute annihilation.

"ROOOOOAAARRR!"

The roar of Apophis tore through existence itself. It was not merely sound—it was pressure, destruction, a force that shook the souls of all who heard it. Mikela and Robuke were struck by it directly, their bodies trembling as the sheer intensity blasted them backward through the void.

Then, without hesitation, the World Ender lunged forward.

The earlier attack—Thirteen Three Stars—had already crippled the Worlds of the Root, fracturing its structure and destabilizing its layers. But it had not been enough to destroy it. Now, however, that weakness became fatal.

Apophis surged ahead like a cosmic predator unleashed.

Layer after layer of the Worlds of the Root shattered under its advance. Flesh, decay, and corrupted matter—each defensive stratum was obliterated, unable to withstand the overwhelming force. Entire regions collapsed as the serpent burrowed deeper, its passage marked by devastation.

Each destroyed layer sent violent tremors through the massive structure. Shockwaves rippled outward, tearing through space-time and distorting gravity in all directions.

The entire battlefield froze.

Warriors from the Nine Empyrean Suns Universe could hardly believe what they were witnessing. The Root had been an existential threat since its arrival—an unstoppable force that devoured worlds and defied all resistance. And now... it was being torn apart before their very eyes.

Hope surged within them, fierce and unrelenting.

But for the abominations of the Root, it was a nightmare made real.

Mikela and Robuke regained control of their bodies just in time to see Apophis already deep within the Worlds of the Root. Panic flooded their minds.

"No... no, no, no—!"

Without hesitation, they hurled themselves forward, pushing their power to its absolute limits. Desperation fueled them as they tore through shattered layers of space, racing toward the heart of their world.

They had to stop it.

They had to.

But they were too late.

Before they could even come close, the tremors abruptly ceased.

The Worlds of the Root... stopped.

Its constant revolutions froze, as if time itself had been severed.

Then, from its core, light began to emerge.

At first, it was faint. Barely noticeable.

But it grew.

And grew.

And grew.

Until it became blinding.

The light expanded outward, flooding the void, engulfing everything in its path. For a moment, it felt as if the entire universe had been swallowed by it.

And then—

Explosion.

A detonation beyond comprehension erupted from the heart of the Worlds of the Root. It was not merely destructive—it was absolute. A catastrophic release of energy that tore through space-time, obliterating everything in its vicinity.

The blast spread across countless kilometers, its shockwaves rippling through the battlefield and beyond. Reality fractured under its weight, unable to endure such overwhelming force.

Yet, amidst the destruction, there was something else.

Relief.

The Worlds of the Root had always been a cancer within the fabric of the universe—a malignant presence that disrupted the natural flow of laws and energy. Its existence twisted reality itself.

And now... it was gone.

With its destruction, the damage it had inflicted began to mend. The laws of the universe stirred, stabilizing, healing. Waves of pure energy surged outward, no longer corrupted, no longer tainted.

The void itself seemed to breathe again.

Mikela and Robuke were thrown back toward the distant battlefield, their bodies battered by the shockwave. It took them several seconds to regain control.

By the time they did, the blinding light had begun to fade.

What remained...

...left them utterly hollow.

There was nothing.

No trace of the Worlds of the Root. No lingering essence.

It was gone.

Completely.

Their eyes trembled, the light within them extinguished as despair consumed their souls.

The destruction of the Worlds of the Root was not merely the loss of their home—it was the end of their future.

Their entire existence, their evolution, their power... all of it depended on that world. It was the source of their growth, the foundation of their cultivation.

Without it, they could not advance.

They could not evolve.

They could not survive.

Even if they somehow won this war, it would mean nothing. They would remain stagnant, forever trapped at their current level. And if they attempted to cross the Universe Wall into the Emptiness in such a weakened state...

It would be suicide.

In simple terms, the destruction of the Worlds of the Root was the same as a death sentence.

They were already dead.

Not physically—but in every way that mattered.

And they were not the only ones shaken to their core.

Nito clenched his teeth so tightly it seemed they might shatter. His expression darkened, a storm of fury and calculation raging behind his eyes.

He had never cared for the Root.

But he understood its value.

The Tenth Empyrean World lacked the population to sustain prolonged warfare. They could not afford endless losses. The abominations of the Root had been the perfect solution—expendable, numerous, relentless.

Cannon fodder.

Now, that advantage was gone.

Completely.

From a strategic standpoint, the loss of the Worlds of the Root might have been even more devastating than the death of Nito himself—the strongest of the Curse Eaters.