Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 691: Legendary Fall

Chapter 691: Legendary Fall

There was no fear, not even a hint of urgency, in the eyes of the white werewolf as he saw Shitaru vanish—nor when the massive spiked club descended upon him with the force to reduce his entire body to a pulp.

Ouroboros had long accepted that he couldn’t directly counter Shitaru’s teleportation abilities. But that was no weakness. Not for him. He had his own skills that more than made up for it.

"BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!"

The spiked club struck with overwhelming strength, creating a crater that shook the ground and sent waves of energy rippling across the battlefield. Yet, it hit nothing but earth. The white werewolf had vanished.

Shitaru’s eyes widened in alarm. That scene... it was familiar. Uncomfortably so. Just like when he had fought Vlad. The Depravita of Wrath had teleported at the last second then.

However, Ouroboros hadn’t teleported. No—he had simply moved. Very, very fast!

Before Shitaru could react, a massive claw gripped the back of his head and slammed him into the ground with devastating force. The world exploded into fragments of sound and pain. Then came the barrage. Blow after blow, punches landed on the base of his skull, each one like a hammer of destruction. Explosions echoed with every hit.

The Half-Step Legends whom Shitaru had reprimanded just seconds before saw the struggle unfold. Yet they did not break focus. If they wanted to help him, they had to win their own battles first.

And now they had an opening.

With Shitaru’s warning that Vlad could no longer unleash his devastating aura-enhanced attacks, courage surged into their hearts like a divine wind. For the first time, they dared to march toward the Depravita of Wrath—hearts brimming with fury, blades gleaming with deadly intent.

Vlad had just severed the head of a Voroe Sage, sending the lifeless body crashing to the ground, when he noticed three Half-Step Legends advancing toward him. Their energy exploded outward, their eyes blazing with murderous purpose.

A solemn glint appeared in Vlad’s gaze.

He wasn’t afraid to fight them. But he was aware of the consequences.

If his momentum were broken, even for a moment, the pressure on the rest of Graecia’s forces would skyrocket—and the tide of battle might shift again. That was something Vlad could not allow.

Fortunately, he wouldn’t have to.

The Depravita of Wrath’s eyes locked on the trio, and in the next instant, three waves of pure, dark energy surged into his blade. The Half-Step Legends didn’t even have time to comprehend what was happening.

Vlad swung his sword once.

"SLASH—SLASH—SLASH!"

Three arcs of sundered reality tore through the air. The force was so immense that it carved open space itself. The Voroes’ expressions—once filled with bloodlust and pride—froze mid-snarl, twisted into grotesque masks of disbelief as their bodies split apart, limbs and torsos spiraling into the sky, leaving trails of blood in their wake.

A short distance away, Shitaru had barely escaped Ouroboros’ brutal assault. He rose, panting and bloodied, only to see the three Half-Step Legends reduced to flying meat.

His eyes widened with disbelief.

"Impossible... Didn’t he already use five of those...?"

The power Vlad had just wielded—the unmistakable dark aura—should have been depleted. The Depravita of Wrath had only five waves of that terrifying energy... or so Shitaru thought.

Vlad noticed the horror on Shitaru’s face and smiled.

The truth was, over the last four months of relentless cultivation, the Depravita Seed within Vlad had grown exponentially, nearing the pinnacle of its evolution. The number of waves of Depravita Aura he could summon had increased—from five to eight!

There was no way for Shitaru to know. And his ill-informed advice had just cost the Voroes three of their top warriors.

As amusing as the Voroe’s expression was, Vlad didn’t stop to gloat. He continued forward, his blade reaping lives with every swing, his momentum becoming a force of nature. The loss of elite warriors sent shockwaves through the Vorometallciae ranks—not just strategically, but psychologically.

The pressure on Graecia’s soldiers was lifted. In its place came a flood of confidence. For the first time, they believed that they might not only survive this war... but win it.

Their blood boiled with hope.

Their speed doubled. Their killing instincts sharpened. The number of Voroes dying by their blades soared into the thousands with each passing minute.

The High Champions had practically been obliterated, their presence reduced to scattered, exhausted remnants. The ranks of Guardians and Sages were rapidly dwindling.

Victory was near. The taste of it lingered on their tongues like lightning.

And then—

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM!"

A deafening explosion echoed across the sky, louder and deeper than anything before it. Every head turned upward in shock.

A moment of silence.

Then—a collective gasp.

Falling from the heavens was one of the Legends who had accompanied General Tiberius. He plummeted from the sky like a broken comet, a gaping hole where his heart once was.

The sight struck like a dagger to the heart of Graecia’s forces.

Terror gripped their souls as another horror unfolded before their eyes: the second Legend—still alive—turned and fled, vanishing into the distance like a coward.

General Tiberius watched it all from the sky, eyes wide with disbelief.

His comrade had literally turned his back and run, leaving him—alone—to face not one, but three Voroe Legends.

The battlefield froze. Time slowed.

There was nothing the Graecian forces could do as the aerial confrontation erupted in a blur of light and power. The three Voroe Legends descended like vultures, smiles twisted with disdain and wicked amusement.

And yet—even abandoned, even outnumbered—General Tiberius did not falter.

Channeling every ounce of strength left in his body, he met their attack head-on. His aura surged, brighter than the sun, and with a mighty roar, he launched a counteroffensive.

He struck with such force that two of the Voroe Legends—one of them a wingless draconic monstrosity—were blasted away, hurled across the battlefield like broken dolls.

But the third...

The third managed to break through.

A claw, black as void and sharper than regret, pierced through Tiberius’ chest!