The Omnipotent System

After the arena was cleared, Adams let out a deep sigh. His eyes, cold and unyielding, fixed on the man before him. "For harboring evil intentions against one of my own, in my home, and worst of all, in my presence, I hereby condemn you to an endless cycle of reincarnation. You will be subjected to the very evil you sought to inflict, never seeing the light of redemption again.

With each reincarnation, your suffering and torment will only increase."

Adams paused, his voice carrying a finality that sent chills through the onlookers. "That is my punishment for you, Mael, Son of El, the Godhead."

The celestial's eyes widened in shock as the weight of Adams' words sank in. The realization that the man he had been so fervently defending was none other than the Son of El, the Godhead of the Ethereal Sovereignty Realm, sent a wave of disbelief through him.

Initially, the celestial had rushed to protect this man purely because he sensed the familiar aura of his race emanating from him. In the Ethereal Sovereignty Realm, celestials were raised with an unwavering belief: to protect and support one another, especially in times of trouble.

This deep-seated loyalty had driven his actions, but now, knowing the true identity of the one he had shielded, the celestial felt a cold dread wash over him. He had unwittingly entangled himself in a conflict far beyond his comprehension.

Despite the shock, a sense of satisfaction flickered within the celestial. He believed he had made the right decision. In his mind, once the Godhead came to rescue his son, he too would be saved. The celestial was confident that no matter how powerful Adams appeared, he was still just a mere boy compared to the Godhead.

The thought reassured him, and he silently congratulated himself for standing by the Godhead's son, certain that his loyalty would not go unrewarded when the inevitable reckoning came.

Mael's voice dripped with arrogance as he sneered, "Since you know who I am, I suggest you let me go this instant, or let the entire Divine Plane go up in flames by my father's vengeance—"

"Kill them, Gareth." Adams' voice was calm, almost indifferent, as he cut Mael off mid-threat. Without sparing a second glance, he rose from his seat, his movements deliberate and unhurried, and began to walk out of the arena.

Mael's eyes widened in disbelief, his sneer faltering as he realized Adams wasn't bluffing. "What?! You dare—" he shouted, his voice laced with panic, the once confident tone now cracking. His words echoed through the arena, but before he could finish, the sound of something slicing through the air filled the space.

In an instant, Mael's eyes widened further, a look of pure horror and disbelief etched across his face. He barely had time to process what was happening before his head was severed clean from his body, the same fate befalling the celestial who had stood beside him.

Gareth stood there, his expression cold and resolute, his blade dripping with the blood of the fallen. The execution had been swift, precise—merciless. The arena fell into a stunned silence, the air heavy with the finality of the act.

As Mael's and the celestial's lifeless bodies crumpled to the ground, Gareth sheathed his weapon, his eyes following Adams as he calmly exited the arena. There was no remorse, no hesitation—only the steely resolve of one who had carried out a command without question.

The onlookers, who had once been buzzing with whispers and speculation, were now rendered speechless, their eyes locked on the scene before them. The air was thick with tension, as the gravity of what had just transpired settled over them. The stark realization hit them all at once—this was no ordinary sect, and Adams Albert was no ordinary man.

As Adams stepped out of the arena, the oppressive silence hung heavy in the air. The once vibrant atmosphere, filled with whispers and speculation, had been utterly stilled by the swift and brutal display of power. The onlookers, both those within the sect and the hidden observers, could only watch in stunned silence as Adams made his exit, his figure commanding an almost divine presence.

Gareth, still standing by the remains of Mael and the celestial, turned to face the crowd. His gaze swept over the assembled sect members and hidden figures alike, his expression unreadable. With a sharp, controlled motion, he wiped the blood from his blade, the sound of the cloth against steel eerily loud in the quiet.

Gareth walked with a deliberate pace, each step echoing through the now-silent arena as he approached his horse. The massive steed stood waiting at the edge of the platform, its dark coat gleaming under the dim light. As Gareth reached it, he placed a hand on the horse's neck, a silent connection passing between the two.

The horse, sensing its master's intentions, remained still and calm, its muscles tensed in anticipation.

With a fluid motion, Gareth mounted the horse, his presence towering over the remnants of the arena's tension. The sight of him atop the magnificent beast was imposing, a fitting image for a warrior of his caliber. For a brief moment, he sat there, his gaze sweeping across the onlookers one last time.

There was no need for words; his expression, calm and unyielding, conveyed all that needed to be said.

And then, with a barely perceptible nudge, the horse leapt forward. But before anyone could fully register the movement, Gareth and his steed vanished into thin air, leaving behind only a faint ripple in the air where they had been. It was as if they had never been there at all.

A collective gasp rippled through the remaining crowd, and then, as if a dam had burst, the arena was filled with a cacophony of whispers. The onlookers, who had been holding their breath in awe and fear, now turned to one another, their voices hushed but urgent.

"Did you see that? He just disappeared! Like he was never even here…"

"I've never seen anything like it… What kind of power is that? It's beyond anything we've encountered before."

"Who do you think trained him? That kind of mastery doesn't come without the guidance of someone extraordinary."

"Extraordinary? Did you not see the way Adams commanded him? Gareth might be powerful, but Adams… Adams is something else entirely."

"I've heard rumors… They say Adams was once a mere mortal, but he ascended faster than anyone in history. Some even whisper that he's on par with the gods themselves…"

The speculation only grew wilder as the seconds ticked by, each person adding their own theories to the mix. The idea of someone like Gareth being so utterly loyal to Adams only heightened the sense of mystery and dread surrounding the sect leader. Some of the onlookers began to exchange uneasy glances, realizing that they had just witnessed something far beyond their comprehension.

In the midst of the crowd, a group of older cultivators, those who had long since reached the peak of their power in the Divine Plane, gathered together, their faces drawn with concern.

"This… This changes everything," one of them muttered, his voice heavy with the weight of his realization. "If what we've just seen is any indication, the Primordial Chaos Sect is a force that none of us can afford to ignore."

"But what does this mean for the Divine Plane?" another asked, his tone laced with worry. "If Adams is truly as powerful as he seems, if he can sentence a being like Mael, the Godhead's own son, without a second thought… What's to stop him from claiming dominion over all of us?"

"He hasn't made any such moves yet," a third pointed out. "Perhaps his interests lie elsewhere. But we must tread carefully. The balance of power in the Divine Plane could shift dramatically if we're not prepared."

One of the older cultivators, a woman with a stern expression and a scar running down her left cheek, narrowed her eyes as she spoke. "I suggest we keep our distance for now. Observe, learn, and prepare. Whatever Adams' intentions are, we must be ready to act. But for now, let's not provoke him. We need to understand him first."

As the older cultivators continued their hushed conversation, the younger ones nearby were abuzz with excitement and fear.

"Did you see how easily Gareth killed them? It was like they were nothing to him!"

"Yeah, but that's nothing compared to Adams. The way he just walked out, like he didn't have a care in the world… It's terrifying."

"I don't know about you, but I'm glad I'm not in Mael's shoes. An endless cycle of reincarnation… I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

"You know what's even scarier? The fact that Adams could make it happen with just a few words. It's like he's playing with reality itself."

"Do you think the Godhead will come after him? I mean, Mael was his son…"

"If he does, I doubt even the Godhead will stand a chance. Didn't you hear what that woman said? She thinks Adams could wipe the floor with him."

"Still, it's hard to imagine someone going up against the Godhead and winning. But then again… After what we've seen today, I wouldn't be surprised if Adams did just that."

As the whispers continued, a sense of unease began to settle over the crowd. The more they talked, the more they realized just how little they knew about Adams and the Primordial Chaos Sect. The unknown was always frightening, but this… This was something different. This was the kind of fear that gnawed at the edges of their minds, the kind that kept them awake at night.

In the midst of it all, those who had been sent to spy on the sect—agents from rival factions, hidden cultivators, and other powerful beings—found themselves rethinking their missions. What they had witnessed was far beyond their expectations, and the thought of reporting back with such unsettling news weighed heavily on them.

One such spy, a man with a shrouded face, slipped away from the arena unnoticed. His thoughts raced as he considered what he had just seen. "I must report this immediately," he thought. "The higher-ups need to know what we're dealing with. But how do I even begin to describe it?"

As the arena slowly emptied, the whispers continued to linger in the air, a constant reminder of the day's events. The once confident and curious onlookers now carried with them a seed of doubt, a gnawing fear that perhaps they had witnessed the beginning of something much larger, something that could reshape the very fabric of their world.

Adams had left his mark, and now, the Divine Plane would never be the same. The question on everyone's mind, however, was simple yet terrifying: What would he do next?