Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 688: The Depravitas’ might

Chapter 688: The Depravitas’ might

Finally—after butchering what seemed like an endless tide of High Champion Voroe—Angelo and the rest of Graecia’s vanguard set their sights on the Voroe Sages.

Every muscle in their bodies burned, veins throbbing with exertion. Thick rivulets of sweat mixed with the blood that spattered their armor. Despite such debilitating fatigue, their spirits remained unbroken and their eyes blazed with willpower. They steeled themselves for the imminent collision.

Yet, an unexpected shift halted their charge.

A massive sky-blue dome suddenly manifested right in front of them, an unmistakable manifestation of Vlad’s Sphere of Spatial Domain.

Even though they recognized it instantly, the onlookers were stunned. Such a technique required tremendous energy consumption, making it unsuited for prolonged engagements.

Why would Vlad use it again so soon?

Before any could dwell on the question, Vlad appeared between Graecia’s vanguard and the Vorometallicae Sages, brandishing a sword that pulsed with a formidable aura.

The Depravita of Wrath radiated such savage intensity that it felt like he might shear the darkness off the battlefield itself. Horror flickered in the eyes of the Voroe Sages at the lethal potential emanating from his stance.

But they caught a momentary glimmer of hope.

Right before Vlad unleashed his attack, Shitaru—the hulking Half-Step Legend of the Vorometallicae—teleported between the two armies. With a sadistic grin creasing his rugged features, he raised his colossal spiked club high, ready to crush Vlad and disrupt the unstoppable strike.

In Shitaru’s mind, the timing was perfect. Vlad was in the middle of charging a high-level technique, forcing him to either abandon it or risk being obliterated before he could swing.

Canceling such a potent strike would cost Vlad nearly half his energy pool and five waves of his Depravita Aura—an unacceptable sacrifice.

"ZZA-AAAK!"

Shitaru froze mid-attack, shock rippling through his face. A figure formed of living lightning blitzed across the air with such speed that even a space-manipulating Half-Step Legend like Shitaru had no time to blink away.

The lightning-clad form crashed into him head-on, sending a concussive wave through the battlefield and forcing Shitaru’s heavy body to rocket backward. The resulting impact gouged a crater into the ground, flinging loose stones and dismembered corpses in all directions.

Shitaru snarled and struggled to stand. He realized his intended prey, Vlad, was still unimpeded. Clutching his spiked club, the Voroe half-step Legend tried to teleport a few meters away from the crater, only to find the lightning-infused warrior waiting.

The shape was clearly Ouroboros, the Depravita of Greed in a newly enhanced form. Sparks of electricity crackled along his fur, making him appear like the very embodiment of a thunderstorm given canine shape.

Shitaru gritted his teeth and swung his club in a desperate arc, but the white werewolf vanished once more, reappearing at his side in a burst of electric discharge.

With staggering speed, Ouroboros landed a fierce kick to Shitaru’s ribs, sending him tumbling through the battered terrain. Horror seized the observing Vorometallicae Sages.

Shitaru, one of their most dangerous fighters, was being held at bay by a warrior they hadn’t even accounted for.

And that meant no one was left to stop Vlad.

"ARRRHHHHHHGGG!" A bestial roar, raw with primordial wrath, erupted from Vlad’s throat. He completed his charge, unleashing a diagonal slash charged with every ounce of his Sundering Domain mastery.

"ZNNNNNNNNNN!"

In the blink of an eye, a savage arc of dark energy surged across the field. The Voroe Sages at the forefront were cut cleanly at the waist. Their torsos toppled backward with dazed, horrified expressions, while their legs continued staggering forward for a step or two before collapsing into the blood-soaked mud.

Almost two dozen Sages died instantly—a single strike had ended them, showcasing power typically reserved for a Legend!

A ripple of stunned silence swept over the Greacian soldiers. Hardly anyone could believe their eyes. Many whispered in awe: how could a Sage-level cultivator unleash such a blow?

Then the weight of alarm fell upon them. The backlash was evident: sweat drenched Vlad’s face, and each ragged breath he took made it clear he was nearing exhaustion.

Even more concerning was the knowledge that a Sage’s body and soul weren’t designed to channel a Legendary-scale attack. Just forcing out this one strike threatened to damage Vlad from within, draining him dangerously close to collapse.

The Vorometallicae recognized this as well. Sensing an opening, three more Half-Step Legends rushed forward, a feral hunger gleaming in their eyes. They needed to kill Vlad now, before he could recover, or else risk letting him become a nightmare on the battlefield.

But as they converged on Vlad, determined to exploit his vulnerable state, another figure appeared—a colossal being of light and fire, towering over the battlefield at twenty-five meters tall. Its draconic form radiated a regal force and an aura that spoke of ancient royalty.

It was Fafnir, the Depravita of Envy.

With a thunderous roar, Fafnir barreled into the three Half-Step Legends, snatching up two in his claws, while he tackled the third with sheer brute force, slamming them all deep into the Voroe lines.

Guardian-tier Voroe scattered like leaves in a storm, crushed by the shockwave of Fafnir’s assault. For an instant, carnage reigned—a swirl of fiery scales, blood, and severed limbs.

Though the three Half-Step Legends tore themselves free from Fafnir’s grip, they emerged battered and winded. Standing in the draconic Depravita’s path, they felt as though they faced an immovable fortress that would yield to no one.

The arrival of Fafnir left many Greacian soldiers reeling in astonishment. They had known Fafnir was powerful, yet seeing his draconic form in full splendor was another matter entirely. But it wasn’t over. Their jaws nearly dropped when a small yellow cat next appeared, brimming with potent energy that rippled visibly through the air.

The power radiating from Jormungandr seemed to vibrate the battlefield, as though reality itself trembled at his presence. However, it was not really the small yellow cat the one that shock them all to the core.

"RRAAAAUUUGHHH!"

A deep, guttural bellow reverberated across the battlefield, not draconic in origin but equally as primal. Heads whipped around in confusion. The sound had come from a massive beast that Jormungandr was riding—an unexpected mount that was neither purely reptilian nor mammalian, something that exuded a bestial majesty.