By the time Azazel's mind and body reacted to Cain, it was already too late.
The Scarlet King's fist had landed squarely on his chest.
The sound was hideous—like metal twisting, like bones cracking under the weight of a collapsing world, and organs trembled under the gravitational twist that could turn soons into tornadoes. Cain's blow carried every ounce of power his body, soul, and mind could summon, and in the next instant, Azazel's form was blasted upward, smashing through the walls of the dimension itself and hurled high into the sky.
Dionisio's eyes widened, his arrogance shattering into raw disbelief as he saw the horrifying power of the Scarlet King. That strike—the speed, the precision, the sheer brutality—was absolute. It was not merely strength. It was will, a ferocity that someone like him could never hope to match.
