Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 698: Depravita Star

Chapter 698: Depravita Star

The battle had ended. They had won.

Those words echoed like a holy chant in the minds of every soldier as they looked around at the sea of Voroe corpses scattered across the bloodstained battlefield. Exhaustion warred with disbelief, and then joy began to crack through their tired faces. Smiles, raw and victorious, bloomed as countless heads tilted skyward—every gaze locking on a single figure above.

Floating high in the sky like a divine sentinel was the Depravita of Wrath.

Vlad stood unmoving, suspended like a celestial monument. The once fully expanded Skin of Wrath no longer coated his body in full battle form. Now, it had receded into a more elegant shape—forming wings of molted shadow-black energy streaked with crimson lightning, arching from his back like a seraph forged in battle and flame.

His golden eyes still blazed with lingering fury, echoing the relentless laser beams he had unleashed over the final five minutes of the war.

Vlad was as tired as any man on that field—perhaps more so. But he stood tall. He had to. All eyes were upon him now.

General Tiberius remained unconscious, his fate uncertain. In the vacuum of leadership, the role had shifted. Everyone knew it.

Vlad wasn’t just the strongest among them—he was the symbol of their victory.

He had killed a Legendary Vorometallicae with his bare hands. He had driven another to flee, mortally wounded. And more than that, he had taken their broken spirits and rekindled them into something fierce—turning hopelessness into vengeance, fear into fury. He had led them through the darkness.

"Tend to the wounded. Bury the dead. Then return to the fortress and rest."

His voice carried not just strength but calm authority. The command was simple. There was no speech, no plans for the future—just the essential instructions they needed at this moment. And it was enough.

The soldiers responded immediately. The wounded were lifted and tended. The fallen were laid to rest with reverence. No elaborate rites were needed; their sacrifices were etched into memory by blood and fire. And then, when it was done, they returned to the Korokor Stronghold, stepping through its ancient gates not as survivors, but as victors.

Above it all, Vlad hovered like a final shield. His presence in the sky offered a wordless promise: You are safe.

Only after the last unit had returned behind the protective walls did he descend and make his way silently to his residence. The moment the doors closed behind him, Vlad collapsed. His body gave out completely, and he fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

His transformation into a True Depravita had brought a tremendous surge in power—but the toll had been just as extreme. His soul, mind, and body had been pushed beyond their limits. Under ideal conditions, he would have entered a long period of secluded cultivation to stabilize the changes in his being.

Instead, he had fought a legendary opponent, burned through nearly every drop of his Depravita Aura, and then continued to fight, spell after spell, to annihilate the last of the Voroe. He had given everything.

It was no wonder that he slept for almost two days before finally opening his eyes again.

Even then, his body felt heavy—his soul weighed down, his limbs sluggish. But his regenerative capabilities, and his resilience as a True Depravita, soon washed away the fatigue. Clarity returned. Power surged once again through his veins.

And for the first time, he looked down and studied his new form in stillness.

His lips curled into a smile.

"I feel... limitless."

His flesh and blood no longer resembled mortal matter. They had become something else entirely—a physical manifestation of his psychic power. No longer mere biological constructs, but hardened ideas shaped by will. His wounds could regenerate not just rapidly, but conceptually. Even if someone ripped his heart from his chest, he would still live.

The notion thrilled him. But he was not naive.

"I understand the limits. Yes, I can survive catastrophic wounds. But each one consumes energy—and if I run out of Depravita Aura, my body stops healing."

Then, his eyes sharpened.

"Still... even if this body ceases to function, I won’t die."

His voice was calm, certain.

"Because to a True Depravita, the body is just a vessel. My essence lies elsewhere."

With quiet reverence, he closed his eyes and focused inward.

His consciousness descended into the Soul Dimension, and as always, the realm responded to his will. Vast and infinite, this internal cosmos bloomed into view.

The ocean of energy below churned with dense, dark plasma—substances that made Force and Magic seem like water in comparison. Now, his Soul Force held only pure Depravita Aura, allowing him to cast Legendary-tier spells and abilities with ease.

But it wasn’t the ocean that drew his gaze.

Above him, suspended like a forbidden star in the center of the void, was a tiny sphere.

It was no larger than a grain of sand, and yet its presence was overwhelming. It radiated gravity, weight, and significance—more than a mountain. More than a world!

Its surface rippled in slow, hypnotic waves—obsidian and silver swirling as though liquid. Light did not bounce off it. Instead, it curved, twisted, bent around it—drawn in like matter into a singularity. Faint beams of spiritual energy spiraled into its surface and vanished as if devoured.

"Depravita Star..."

That was its name. The core of who he was.

It held his will, his ego, his strength, and his very existence. As long as it remained intact, Vlad could be reduced to ash and still recover. His body could be torn to pieces, but he would never truly die.

Though unimaginably small, it pulsed with limitless potential.

And the moment he focused on it, his awareness expanded—piercing into another layer of existence. He glimpsed a realm beyond, a plane of eternal war and divine wrath, where fury reigned as law and destruction was sacred.

Surrounding the Depravita Star was a single, awe-inspiring construct: a seal.

It spiraled around the core like a majestic binding rune, pulsing with the same energy as his Skin of Wrath. This was no ordinary artifact—it was the Seal of Sin, the manifestation of his sin, Wrath, made divine.