Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 542: Ambush (V)

Chapter 542: Ambush (V)

Irion scowled as Vlad continued to move too fast for him to deploy another gravity lock. Yet the Voroe Sage was far from out of tricks. In the next moment, he channeled a massive gravitational force into his spiked club, causing the weapon to glow with distortions in the air as if space itself were bending around it.

Vlad’s eyes narrowed when he saw Irion empower his already terrifying weapon with that gravitational energy.

Things grew more complicated a heartbeat later, when the Voroe Sage swung the club and unleashed a literal wave of compressed gravity that barreled toward Vlad. The sheer force ripped the ground apart, twisting and grinding the terrain into dust. Unfortunate humans or Voroe caught in its path were pulverized into mangled flesh and shattered bone.

Realizing he was too close to dodge, Vlad acted without hesitation. He concentrated all the lightning and fire he could muster into his hands, fusing the last vestiges of his Depravita Aura into the energy mass.

Just as the gravitational wave thundered down on him, Vlad clapped his hands together, creating a blade of power—a crackling fusion of flames and lightning. That blade clove the wave in two, sending its twin halves roaring past him to either side.

Irion’s eyes widened in disbelief. He had not expected anyone to counter his gravitational wave so directly. Matters grew worse for him when that blade of energy did not simply dissipate; instead, it tore past the divided gravity field and struck him head-on. The impact launched him backward, rolling end over end across the scorched ground. A spray of molten blood erupted from his mouth as his body slammed into a rocky outcrop.

Vlad refused to let up. He extended both arms behind him, channeling what remained of his gathered energy into his palms. Twin blasts erupted, propelling him forward at shocking speed. The Depravita of Wrath crashed into the Voroe Sage’s battered form with a thunderous impact, fracturing more of the creature’s metallic flesh and drawing a guttural snarl of agony.

Even under immense pain and crippling wounds, Irion’s eyes shone with the unyielding ferocity that characterized his race. Wrenching his body sideways, he managed to fling Vlad away, then rose to his feet and swung his spiked club with startling speed. Vlad barely managed to backstep in time.

The club struck the ground, instantly pulverizing rock into a fine dust. A chill ran through Vlad’s spine—despite the savage injuries he had inflicted, Irion still had enough strength left to kill him if he let his guard down.

For a brief second, both fighters locked gazes, each aware that the next series of blows could be decisive. Without a word, Irion lunged, swinging his massive club in a downward arc aimed at Vlad’s skull.

Vlad sidestepped and pivoted on his left foot, letting the club scrape the ground just inches to his right. He retaliated with a flaming roundhouse kick, arcs of lightning spiraling around his leg. Irion twisted his hips to bring the handle of his club up in time, blocking the blow with a harsh clang that echoed across the battlefield.

Vlad followed up by driving a fist wreathed in crackling fire toward Irion’s midsection. The Voroe Sage unleashed a quick burst of gravitational force, slowing Vlad’s arm just enough to twist away from a dangerous strike. Even so, sparks ripped across Irion’s metallic skin, leaving blackened streaks of scorched alloy. Growling in rage, he swung his club in a broad sweep.

While Vlad and Irion clashed, Fafnir and Jormugandr rampaged through the Voroe ranks, though they were not engaged in direct combat with Sage-level opponents. Their impact on the battlefield was staggering.

The Depravita of Envy, standing forty-five meters tall in his draconic form, crushed and clawed any enemy that ventured too close. Although the Vorometallicae Race was incredibly durable and resilient, they could do nothing to fend off the power of Fafnir.

Meanwhile, Jormugandr unleashed storms of concentrated lightning, recognizing that most of these Voroe had some measure of fire resistance. By focusing on speed and electricity, he cut down Level 15 Champions and lower-tier Guardians in a flurry of sizzling attacks.

The hundreds of Graecian warriors observed the chaotic scene with awe. Their commanders adapted quickly, coordinating maneuvers to capitalize on the devastation wrought by the two Depravitas, further enhancing their own killing efficiency. Defenders circled around the massive fire dragon or advanced behind Jormugandr’s lightning salvos, minimizing friendly casualties and maximizing Voroe losses.

With each passing second, the human side gained firmer control over the battlefield. The Voroe horde, originally massive, dwindled at an astonishing rate. Of course, giving honor to their race and the ferocity of their home, they kept fighting and killing as much as they could, but it was more and more clear that it was futile.

No one felt this reversal of fortune more than the towering Voroe Sage locked in combat with Ouroboros and Zalasar. Fury burned in his eyes at how quickly the tide had turned. Had it not been for the interference of the werewolf, the mysterious dragon, and the other unknown entities, his ambush might have succeeded brilliantly. Now, he faced the grim reality that his forces were on the brink of annihilation.

"ARRRGHHHHH!" he roared, slamming his halberd into the ground. A shockwave blasted Ouroboros and Zalasar backward, giving him a precious few seconds. The Voroe Sage’s eyes flared with an eerie light, and in the next instant, his entire body transformed into a whirlwind of razor-sharp metal shards. Thousands of gleaming blades shot into the sky before scattering in every direction, an unstoppable flurry of debris that soared out of reach.

Ouroboros and Zalasar watched in frustration, unable to stop the Voroe Sage’s sudden metamorphosis and escape. Though their brief alliance had successfully prevented a total massacre of the convoy, the monstrous Sage had slipped through their fingers.

The betrayal was even more shocking for Irion, the smaller Sage-level Voroe.

"Alard, you coward!" Irion bellowed, his voice echoing across the battlefield.