Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 681: Space vs Space (I)

Chapter 681: Space vs Space (I)

Vlad and the rest of the Graecia’s forces watched as fireballs streaked across the sky—massive, blazing projectiles hurled from the energy towers of the Korokor Stronghold. The fortress’s elemental barrage surged forward like the wrath of the gods themselves, set to annihilate the advancing Voroe army.

But something felt... off.

Vlad, as well as several high-ranking Sages, noticed it immediately—the barrage was only half its usual volume.

The energy towers, built for rapid recharge and sustained bombardment, had recovered entirely in just two days since the last battle. There was no technical reason for such a reduced volley. Which meant only one thing: General Tiberius had ordered it that way.

A wise decision, as it turned out.

Just as the fireballs were about to impact the Voroe ranks, a vast energy wall erupted from the battlefield—an ethereal, shimmering barrier that materialized with terrifying speed.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The explosions that followed were massive, shaking the sky and cracking the earth. The fireballs detonated in furious succession, hurling plumes of flame and debris high into the air. The battlefield trembled under the might of the fortress’s wrath—but when the smoke cleared, the truth was evident.

Not a single Voroe had fallen.

The energy wall had absorbed the entire assault. The combined power of over a hundred elemental blasts had been completely nullified.

Inside the stronghold, many soldiers clenched their fists and grit their teeth, barely able to hide their frustration. Even General Tiberius, high in the sky and locked in combat, felt the sting of disappointment ripple through his mind.

A portable battlefield energy shield—to deploy something of that scale was both technologically advanced and prohibitively expensive. It was a clear sign that the Void Heart Fortress had gone above and beyond for this assault, investing precious resources in a desperate bid to shift the tide.

Unfortunately, General Tiberius had no time to dwell on it.

The wingless draconic Voroe Legend surged toward him in a blur of frost, forcing him to devote his full focus to survival. The sky above roared with the sounds of battle as Legends clashed with a fury only they could withstand.

Below, on the ground, the Graecia’s troops squared their shoulders and marched forward.

Unlike the Vorometallicae, who sent waves of their weakest ahead to drain the enemy’s energy and patience, the Graecia’s army placed its strongest warriors at the front. Sages formed the vanguard, while the thousands of newly arrived Guardian-tier reinforcements flanked them in supportive formations, ready to act as a second line.

Tension mounted—thick, tangible, suffocating.

Then it broke.

With a thunderous roar, the Graecia’s vanguard charged, led by the iron-willed Vikings. Angelo and his warriors were a crimson tide, axes raised and eyes filled with fury. The moment they collided with the Voroe High Champions, it was like watching a machine gun tear through flesh.

Limbs flew. Bones shattered. Blood sprayed in every direction.

The High Champions—though tenacious and numerous—stood no chance. They were not soldiers; they were fodder, their bodies broken instantly under the might of seasoned warriors. Angelo himself was a butcher, carving a path of destruction with each swing of his battle-axe.

But there was no joy in the slaughter.

The Graecia knew what this was—a trap. The High Champions were there not to win, but to sap energy, to burn resources, to distract. Every time they killed one, they burned just a bit more stamina. And with tens of thousands coming, even the strongest would tire eventually.

After over twenty thousand High Champions were slain, the true enemy emerged.

The Vorometallicae Sages stepped forward, marching over the corpses of their comrades with dead, emotionless eyes. Now the real battle began.

Angelo, soaked in blood from head to toe, narrowed his eyes as he caught his breath. "Finally," he muttered. "A real fight."

But just as the first clash was about to erupt, a gust of spatial distortion flashed before them.

Vlad appeared in a blink, sword already mid-swing. A single strike cleaved a Voroe Sage cleanly in half, the follow-through generating a massive arc of energy that crashed into several more, disrupting their formation and halting their momentum.

Then—just as suddenly—he vanished, teleporting away before any counterattack could land.

He hadn’t triggered the Sphere of Spatial Domain. Not this time.

This battle was going to be long, and Vlad knew he had to conserve energy. With his recent breakthroughs in strength, body resilience, and Depravita Aura, he had reached a point where he could manifest the Domain of Teleportation and Sundering without relying on the Legendary Bloodline Ability. His mastery had grown that much.

Sage after Sage fell to his blade. Even those who survived his direct assault found themselves crippled, their wounds festering and expanding under the influence of the Mark of Cain, their life force siphoned away.

But just as Vlad’s momentum surged to a crescendo, he froze mid-step.

His instincts screamed danger.

He raised his sword and shifted into a defensive stance just in time.

BOOOOOOM!

An explosion erupted above him as a massive figure descended, slamming a spiked mace down with enough force to shatter the ground. The shockwave sent Vlad flying backward, though he managed to regain control midair and land gracefully, skidding to a halt.

His eyes locked onto his attacker—and narrowed.

What stood before him looked like a living suit of demonic armor—a towering monstrosity of forged metal, infernal design, and ancient malice.

The Voroe’s entire structure was forged from blackened steel, veined with molten gold lines that pulsed with unholy energy. Grotesque, skull-faced visages snarled across its armor, their crimson eyes glowing with soul-consuming hatred. The shoulder plates bore the fused forms of demonic beasts, eternally frozen mid-scream. From his core, flesh-bound tubes writhed and pulsed like veins, connecting limbs and armor like a living machine.

His arms ended in massive claws, but the right held a monstrous, spiked club still glowing with residual energy from the impact.

Vlad gritted his teeth. The creature’s strength alone was immense—but that wasn’t what made him dangerous.

The Law of Space radiated from the monster like a suffocating