Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 671: First victory

Chapter 671: First victory

A small smile crept across Vlad’s face as he perceived the power unleashed by Jormugandr. The Law of Life—one of the most profound and mysterious of all Laws—was not typically associated with destruction.

Yet, when wielded with insight and creativity, it could bring about devastation on a cataclysmic scale. Jormugandr had mastered that balance.

Though Vlad felt pride for his friend, he couldn’t afford the luxury of distraction. He was now face-to-face with two Half-Step Legend Voroe, each radiating a terrifying aura and enough power to turn the tide of the battlefield had they been free to engage elsewhere.

However, Vlad’s presence, and more importantly, his control over the Law of Space, demanded their full attention. Left unchecked, he could kill Sages every few seconds, tearing through their forces like a blade through silk.

The first of the two was a colossal lion-like humanoid, his muscular body wrapped in golden fur that shimmered with internal power. His claws resembled crystalline daggers—long, deadly, and etched with runes.

A radiant golden glow surrounded him, pulsating with a pressure so intense it made the air ripple.

This aura didn’t only amplify his physical strength—it acted as a barrier, greatly enhancing his endurance and making his flesh nearly impervious to ordinary blades.

The second Voroe was a towering, gnarled entity—a living tree shaped into humanoid form. His body was made of hardened, bark-like flesh interwoven with glowing brown orbs embedded in his torso and limbs.

A massive wooden club, formed seemingly from his own living mass, was clenched tightly in one hand.

He exuded the essence of the Law of Earth: pressure, resilience, and relentless vitality.

The battlefield around them blurred as the three powerhouses engaged in a violent dance of power and blood.

Vlad vanished from view with a pulse of spatial energy, teleporting behind the lion-Voroe and aiming a lightning-fast slash for the creature’s spine. But the golden warrior spun just in time, parrying with his claws. Sparks flew as metal met radiant claw, and the sheer force of the clash shook the ground.

The tree-like Voroe was already on the move. With surprising speed, he brought down his massive club toward Vlad from above.

Vlad blinked away just in time—his body teleporting several meters to the left, narrowly avoiding being flattened. The club struck the earth, fracturing the ground and sending a shockwave through the battlefield.

Vlad retaliated. His sword cut through the air, creating a rift in space itself. The spatial tear shot toward the Trent Voroe, who raised an arm to block. It carved through bark and wood, drawing dark sap and causing the warrior to roar in pain.

But he did not falter. With the Law of Earth surging through him, the wound began to regenerate slowly, the orbs on his body pulsing with life.

In the same breath, the lion warrior launched forward, claws gleaming.

Vlad crossed blades with him, the two exchanging a furious series of blows—each strike fast enough to crack air and hard enough to rupture stone.

For all their power, however, Vlad maintained the upper hand. His command over space allowed him to phase in and out of attacks, teleporting mere inches at times to dodge fatal blows, and slicing clean through their defenses with spatial cuts that bypassed physical durability.

But the two Voroe were no fools. They adapted.

Using brilliant synergy, the lion would force Vlad into melee with explosive rushes while the Trent Voroe created zones of compressed gravity and shifting terrain to control the battlefield.

Whenever Vlad began a teleportation pattern, the Trent manipulated the ground beneath him, trying to intercept his landings with hammer-like strikes or entrap him with roots and earth spikes.

Vlad’s armor shimmered. It absorbed shockwaves, dulled impacts, and amplified his strength with every passing second. Even when a golden claw grazed his side or a crushing blow landed on his shoulder, the armor dissipated much of the force, preventing critical damage.

They were all wounded—blood, sap, and sweat mixing on the cracked battlefield beneath them.

...

Around Vlad, the battlefield was a storm of explosions, flashing spells, and metallic roars. The tide, however, was turning.

Although the humans had lost warriors, their numbers barely scratched the double digits. In contrast, nearly half of the Voroe Sages had fallen, and less than a third of their Guardians remained.

It wasn’t that the humans were vastly stronger—the difference in strength between the two armies was not insurmountable. But one side had the advantage of a defensive formation.

The Graecian soldiers didn’t need to kill—they just had to endure. Their formations were built for persistence and retaliation. The Voroe, by contrast, had to attack, break through, and expose themselves to counterassaults. That left them vulnerable.

Voroe blood soaked the earth, black and viscous, tainting the ground beneath their broken bodies.

And then it came—a scream from above.

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

Everything froze for a heartbeat. All eyes turned to the sky, where the true battle—the Legendary clash—raged.

Though the fights on the ground were intense, everyone knew the battle in the sky would decide the war. If the Voroe Legends triumphed, they could wipe out the Graecian defenders in minutes.

But that was not to be.

A beam of light burst across the heavens, flashing into the distance—headed back toward Void Heart Fortress.

"RETREAT!"

The booming voice of a Voroe Legend echoed across the field. The signal was clear: the battle was lost.

While the Vorometallicae generals rarely cared for the lives of their underlings, Sages were too valuable to be thrown away needlessly. The Half-Step Legends and remaining Sages retreated immediately, falling back in careful formations.

The Guardians, however, were another story.

So brainwashed, they continued their suicidal charge—storming the human lines even as their commanders fled. They were cut down without mercy, not managing to take a single life in return. Yet their sacrifice allowed the rest of the Voroe to escape.

The warriors of Graecia stood firm, many trembling with fury and the temptation to pursue. Bloodlust burned in their veins. The scent of victory was thick, and their blades begged to taste more Voroe blood.

But they did not chase.

Discipline and unity had earned them this triumph, and to break ranks now would risk their own lives and the strategic position they had won. Caution prevailed.

Once the last of the Sages vanished from view, the three human Legends—General Tiberius and his elite—descended from the sky.

Their bodies were marked with wounds and seared cuts, blood flowing freely. Clearly, the battle above had been no less intense than that below.

Tiberius looked upon his soldiers—bruised, bloodied, victorious.

"This was a great victory, but do not grow complacent," he thundered. "This was just the beginning. Bury the dead. Tend the wounded. Then return to the fortress and rest."