Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 667: Eclipse Battlefield (II)

Chapter 667: Eclipse Battlefield (II)

Marshal Maximo stood face to face with a towering Vorometallicae over fifteen meters tall. The creature resembled a strange metallic entity with four muscular arms, each ending in clawed fists. His face was hidden behind a built-in obsidian mask, revealing only his glowing crimson eyes.

This was Kutun, Supreme Leader of the Void Heart Fortress, and Maximo’s direct counterpart on the battlefield.

Kutun’s speed was nothing short of monstrous. Every punch he unleashed was a miniature supernova—blazing with incandescent heat and exuding a gravitational pressure strong enough to pulverize entire cities. But Marshal Maximo did not fall behind.

Wielding a massive greatsword like it was merely an extension of his arm, Maximo carved through the air with arcs of lightning and thunder, his every movement like the wrathful descent of a cataclysmic storm.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!"

A deafening explosion shook the very fabric of the battlefield as sword met fist. The resulting shockwave of heat, electricity, and raw force cracked the surrounding space and collapsed nearby chunks of reality. Both titans were launched back hundreds of kilometers, yet neither paid it any mind.

They had fought like this for days already. For them, these world-shattering exchanges were merely the prelude.

In the blink of an eye, they clashed again.

Kutun’s four arms moved with godlike precision—each strike a masterpiece of battle technique honed through countless centuries. Every blow targeted vital points, delivering explosive killing intent. Yet, even while fully engaged with Maximo, Kutun’s eyes constantly scanned the battlefield. What he saw filled him with fury and frustration.

The forces of the Vorometallicae were being pushed back.

Kutun clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding as he witnessed his elite forces, born and bred in the furnace of a hellish world, struggling against the coordinated assault of the Graecia Empire. In terms of raw individual power, the Vorometallicae could match—or in some cases even surpass—the might of their human counterparts. Each of their Legends was a master forged through a thousand wars.

But numbers... numbers were a different story.

Even with reinforcements from the Void Heart Fortress, they were severely outnumbered. The humans had fielded twice as many Legends and nearly three times the number of Half-Step Legends. The only thing preventing an outright collapse was the presence of over two thousand Vorometallicae Sages thrown into the fray to fill the gap.

But those Sages were dying at an alarming rate.

"How the hell did they do it?" Kutun cursed inwardly. His people were never used to being outnumbered. Their world’s environment bred countless warriors—it was nearly unheard of for them to face an enemy with superior numbers.

"Hahaha! Kutun, you really think you can afford to let your mind wander?!" Marshal Maximo bellowed with laughter as he brought his blade down once more.

The massive sword, wreathed in stormlight, ripped through the air with such velocity that the space around it bent and twisted. Kutun managed to dodge at the last second, but not fast enough to avoid the burning edge completely. A searing wound opened across his chest, and he grunted as the pain flared through his nerves.

"Hmph!" Kutun growled, rage boiling in his voice. "Your Graecia Empire really went all in this time. How much wealth did you spend to bring this many warriors? Are you seriously betting everything on one assault?"

Maximo didn’t even flinch. His smile widened into a manic grin, the storm in his eyes raging brighter.

"Hahaha! So what if I am?! I’d bet the entire future of the Golden Sky Fortress if it means I get to consume you with it!"

He charged again, his sword roaring like thunder, slicing through the sky with the fury of an entire nation behind it.

To any onlooker, it might have seemed like Maximo had lost his mind—that he had gambled everything on a single strike. But in truth, the strategy was far more calculated. The Golden Sky Fortress had not emptied its coffers for this attack. This war effort had not been born from financial desperation.

It had been made possible by one man.

Maximo’s mind flickered to the boy with jet-black eyes—the young man who had quietly worked miracles within the fortress. Vlad Xaos, the Depraivta, had healed hundreds of warriors who had once been crippled by the chaotic energy of The Darkness.

Through the Darkness Devouring Runic Formation, he had restored them, allowing them to once again step onto the battlefield.

Maximo didn’t need to look to know that 80% of the Legends and Half-Step Legends currently fighting were those resurrected by Vlad’s runes.

A sharp glint ignited in the Marshal’s eyes as he pressed the assault. His sword struck faster, deeper, infused with the rage and hope of an entire empire. Lightning danced across his blade, slicing through air, metal, and flesh. Finally, after one brutal exchange, he saw an opening.

"SHRAAAAAAAK!"

The sword bypassed Kutun’s defenses and crashed into his chest with enough force to tear through mountains.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM!"

Kutun was blasted across the sky, his body trailing lightning as a wide, charred wound split open across his torso. The electricity seared his flesh, blocking his healing factor and sapping his vitality with every passing second.

Clenching his teeth, the Voroe Supreme Leader struggled to regain control over his spiraling body. But he wasn’t fast enough.

The next instant, a second figure materialized beside him.

A man with jet-black hair. His aura pulsed with the power of the Law of Space, bending reality with his mere presence.

"Spartacus."

Kutun’s eyes widened in recognition. He jerked his head to avoid a fatal blow to the skull, but Spartacus’s blade still sliced down into his right shoulder—severing both of his right arms in one clean stroke.

Agony surged through the Voroe. His mouth opened in a silent scream as blood burst from the wounds. Yet, to his credit, he didn’t falter.

"Ahhrgggh!" Roaring with pain and desperation, he drove his remaining left fists into Spartacus’s chest. The blows landed hard, sending the Graecian Legend flying, bones broken, blood spraying from his lips.

Kutun didn’t wait.

He spun mid-air, unleashed a blinding burst of kinetic force, and vanished from the battlefield—his retreat a blur of shadows and sparks.