Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 669: The might of space severing

Chapter 669: The might of space severing

Despite the immense power of the fireballs discharged by the stronghold, they were too slow to pose a real threat to the Legends or even Half-Step Legends. However, Sages—and especially Guardians—would not be so fortunate.

The Voroe Legends knew how dangerous such attacks could be for their troops, so they were already preparing to intercept them. Just as they dashed forward, ready to use their immense strength to neutralize the fiery spheres, three figures emerged from the shadows cast by the fireballs.

General Tiberius, accompanied by two other human Legends, had concealed themselves behind the oncoming fireballs, using them as a smokescreen to close the distance unnoticed. With the element of surprise on their side, they launched a ferocious strike at the Voroe Legends.

A clash between Legends was a phenomenon unto itself—sometimes battles between such powerful beings could stretch on for days, yet other times, they ended in a single, explosive instant.

The Voroe Sages, realizing the danger, had no choice but to abandon their attempts to intercept the fireballs. They could not afford even a moment of distraction. They turned to face their human counterparts instead.

With speed that bent the clouds and split the air, General Tiberius and the other two human Legends drove the Voroe high into the sky, far away from the rest of the battlefield.

Without the Voroe Legends to stop them, the fireballs continued on their deadly trajectory, descending upon the battlefield like the wrath of the heavens.

The Half-Step Legends had the awareness and agility to retreat and dodge the incoming infernos. They saved themselves just in time. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the ordinary Sages and Guardians.

"BOOOOOOMMMMM!"

A tremendous explosion rocked the earth. Fire tore through the Voroe lines, disintegrating over a dozen Sages instantly and wounding dozens more. But it was the Guardians who suffered most—more than one hundred of them were incinerated on the spot, leaving behind nothing but smoking, charred remains.

The battle had not even properly begun, and already, the Vorometallicae had sustained staggering losses. Yet, one had to give credit where it was due: they were relentless. Despite the devastation, they continued their advance.

The fireballs kept detonating one after another, tearing open craters and shredding through enemy lines. With every blast, more lives were claimed.

After the fifth explosion, however, the runes and magic formations that powered the fireball defense dimmed and lost their glow. All the magic and elemental energy the stronghold had accumulated had been used up in those initial attacks.

There remained just enough energy to maintain the protective force field surrounding the stronghold—a necessity that could not be ignored.

That barrier was the last line of defense; a single barrage of Legendary spells could annihilate the stronghold if it failed, which would mean the loss of their defensive position.

Still, the humans were far from helpless. Hundreds of Sages began pouring out of the stronghold, weapons in hand and eyes gleaming with battle spirit. They moved as one, disciplined and precise, ready to meet the Voroe head-on.

Despite their earlier losses—over fifty Sages obliterated and more than four hundred Guardians gone—the Vorometallicae march continued with unstoppable momentum.

The warriors at the frontlines, forming the Vanguard, carried this weight with grim determination. The air around them shimmered with tension and raw power. Their expressions were cold and resolute. There was no fear in their eyes—only the burning thrill of war.

"Brothers and sisters!" a thunderous voice echoed above the field. "Odinvaldr is throwing a feast! Let us take it!"

A towering man nearly four meters tall stepped forward. His bulging muscles looked like they had been carved from stone, his body adorned with shimmering, ancient totems. His roar ignited the blood of every soldier around him.

Most of the Vanguard were Vikings—fierce warriors who cherished battle from the bottom of their hearts. Fear was not a language they spoke. They seemed immune to the psychological pressure of facing an overwhelming, charging enemy, making them the perfect choice to hold the front.

The Vikings and the rest of the Vanguard assumed battle stances, power surging through their forms. Once the Voroe battalion drew within two hundred meters, the Vanguard released their energy in a colossal wave. Like divine spears hurled from the heavens, they launched themselves forward with devastating force.

They crashed into the Vorometallicae Sages with such fury and momentum that they broke through the frontline, carving their way into enemy ranks like an unstoppable tide. Everything in their path was reduced to ruin.

Immediately behind them, a second force of one hundred and fifty Sages advanced in a tight, unified formation. They followed the breach created by the Vanguard, capitalizing on the chaos, and slowly began pushing deeper into enemy territory.

A massive battlefield of blood, magic, and steel erupted in full force as both sides clashed with explosive might. At first, the humans held the upper hand. Their formations were tight and well-practiced. Every warrior watched their comrade’s back, ensuring no flank was left exposed.

Though their strikes were fierce and unrelenting, the Vanguard maintained focus. Their goal was not to exterminate the Voroe. Their mission was to secure the frontline and solidify their position. As a result, they valued defense and formation over reckless kills.

This strategy preserved their strength and helped maintain a stable defense, but it also left openings—small cracks that could be exploited by those powerful enough to do so.

One such opportunity was spotted by a Half-Step Legend of the Vorometallicae. The creature resembled a humanoid reptile, its dark scales glimmering like shadow-forged ore. Its eyes locked onto a leading Viking warrior, who was occupied fending off waves of Sages.

The Half-Step Legend moved like a specter. In a blink, he appeared beside the Viking, ready to strike from the side—his blade poised for a killing blow.

But just as he lunged, a brilliant sky-blue force field erupted around the battlefield. Confused, the Voroe warrior barely had time to register what was happening before a man clad in imposing armor appeared before him.

This new arrival wielded a massive sword that hummed with power. In a single, blinding motion, the blade came down like the judgment of the gods.

"ZNNNN!"