Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 730: Returnign home (II)

Chapter 730: Returnign home (II)

Vlad smiled warmly at the Vikings. Though he had initially entered the hall with a specific purpose in mind, joining them felt entirely natural.

These warriors had fought and bled beside him on more than one battlefield, and there was a bond between them that needed no words. To share in their celebration was more than camaraderie—it was respect.

The alcohol the Vikings drank was not ordinary mead—it was a powerful brew imported from Valhalla, known for its legendary potency. Even warriors with overwhelming vitality, like the Vikings themselves, could be knocked off their feet by its strength.

Boisterous contests quickly broke out, with warriors challenging one another to drinking duels. Before Vlad realized it, he was dragged into the chaos.

Although Vlad had never considered himself a good drinker, his body was unique. Composed of condensed psychic energy, he was immune to nearly all poisons, including alcohol.

One by one, five Viking champions challenged him. And one by one, they fell, collapsing into unconscious heaps, victims of alcohol poisoning, while Vlad remained untouched, still sipping casually from his tankard.

It was childish, perhaps—but it was fun. Vlad laughed heartily and allowed himself to enjoy the moment.

After all the brutality and bloodshed of the war, this simple act of laughter and bonding was a welcome relief. But even as the celebration roared on, Vlad never lost sight of his true purpose.

After a few hours of feasting, drinking, and singing alongside the warriors, Vlad discreetly approached Angelo and cast him a meaningful glance.

Angelo immediately understood. His eyes sharpened with clarity, and with a solemn nod, he followed Vlad to a secluded corner of the hall, away from the eyes and ears of others.

There, the two spoke in hushed tones for nearly an hour. At the end of the conversation, Vlad handed Angelo a spatial ring imbued with both data and resources—its contents known only to them. Without another word, Vlad left the hall.

He wandered through the fortress afterward, taking in the sights one last time. Along the way, he reunited briefly with Janus and Agamenon. They drank together, laughed over old stories, and shared solemn toasts in honor of the fallen.

With those farewells complete, Vlad continued his walk, meeting both new allies and old friends—some he had just recently come to know during the last battle, others he had bonded with over months of grueling campaigns in the Korokor Stronghold. At last, his journey brought him to a place of silence and memory: the cemetery built at the edge of the fortress.

The Vorometallicae had never buried their dead. This resting place had been constructed by Graecians after the war ended, a tribute to those who had given everything. Vlad moved slowly among the gravestones, bowing respectfully at each one, offering silent prayers. He finally came to a stop before the largest monument of them all.

"Here lies Damian Magno. Father, friend, master. Ultimate Hero of the Voidheart Fortress War."

Vlad read the inscription aloud, then performed a deep bow, remaining in that position for nearly a full minute. This was not just ritual—this was mourning, reverence, and gratitude. Once the moment passed, he turned and quietly walked back to his residence.

Despite his incredible growth, Vlad remained unaware of the figure silently observing him from the edge of the cemetery. A strange energy masked the stranger’s presence, rendering him invisible even to Vlad’s heightened senses.

Only his eyes could be seen—brilliant white, intense enough to drain the world of its color. For a brief moment, the mysterious figure stared at Vlad, a faint glimmer of significance flashing in his gaze, before turning toward the core tower and vanishing in a streak of light.

He passed effortlessly through matter, his body shifting through walls and barriers until he materialized directly within the throne room—where Marshal Maximo, Spartacus, and General Tiberius were deep in discussion about the Zanis Family.

The moment the figure appeared, the three men froze, their eyes widening in disbelief. Without hesitation, they fell to their knees and bowed their heads in reverence.

Back in their residence, Vlad remained blissfully unaware of what had just occurred. He sat down in front of Jormungandr and began to meditate, allowing his thoughts to clear and his inner energy to settle.

A few minutes later, the doors to their residence opened, revealing Fafnir and Ouroboros. The four Depravitas glanced at one another, shared subtle smiles, and silently adopted meditative stances, joining together in focused stillness.

Time passed. But before a full hour could elapse, all four of them opened their eyes in unison. Wide smiles spread across their faces as they turned their gazes upward.

"RUMBLE!"

A colossal force had appeared above the fortress, its power so immense that even seasoned Legends felt a shiver of dread. Many feared that a Vorometallicae Lord had returned to exact revenge.

Before panic could spread, Marshal Maximo’s voice echoed through the stronghold.

"Everyone, calm down. That presence is an ally—a friend of the Depravitas."

His assurance relaxed the hearts of many. At the same time, it stirred wonder. Rumors of the Depraivtas’ immense strength had already spread across the Land of the Three Calamities, along with tales of their survival against impossible odds. Now, it seemed they were even under the protection of a Lord.

Of course, Maximo knew the truth—that this was the power of a World Will. But letting the myth grow around Vlad could act as a shield, obscuring the truth and deterring enemies. He was more than willing to help in that way.

Above the fortress, the radiant golden energy intensified until it formed into a colossal beam of light. The beam pierced through space and time itself, descending upon Vlad, Jormungandr, Fafnir, and Ouroboros. It wrapped around the four, lifting them into the air before vanishing, taking them far away—out of the Doomsday World, and back to their true home.

As they disappeared, the Legends and the millions of soldiers and civilians now residing in the fortress stared upward in awe. Their expressions were a mixture of admiration and disbelief. They had not merely witnessed warriors—they had seen legends, rising into myth.

Just three years ago, no one in the Graecian Empire had even heard the word Depravita. But now, their name had become synonymous with power, immortality, and defiance of death.

Beings who could survive having their hearts pierced, who could transform into gargantuan serpents capable of devouring the chaos that existed between worlds—such feats had turned the Depravitas into myths.

Tales of their strength and survival spread like wildfire, reaching farther and farther beyond the confines of the Doomsday World. For some, they were heroes—symbols of hope and resilience. For others, they were monsters—unnatural anomalies whose existence threatened the order of things. Either way, they had captured the imagination of millions, and their influence only continued to grow.

...

Far from the Land of the Three Calamities, on a distant world untouched by war but not by ambition, a pale white sun cast a cold light over a landscape drenched in black and gray.

This world was vast—tens of times larger than Terra, and governed by Laws so deep and unyielding that even Legendary-level battles could erupt upon its surface without damaging its foundations. It was a place not built for beauty, but for endurance, power, and dominance.

The terrain of the world was entirely unnatural—a seamless fabric covered every inch of land, layered in patterns that stretched to the horizon.

It was a world made and remade by its rulers, molded to reflect their wealth and control. This was the homeworld of one of the most powerful and feared families in the entire Graecia Empire: a family not known for conquest through war, but through commerce, manipulation, and unrelenting greed.

They were the Zanis Family, rulers of a merchant empire so vast and deep-rooted that even devils would be left in awe of their ambition. If wealth was power, then the Zanis were gods.

At the heart of this planet stood a castle so massive that it defied comprehension. Larger than most cities, it rose in impossible tiers of architecture—crimson spires, obsidian towers, and silver bridges interlacing the skyline like a web of dominance.

Deep within its core, in a level where even the air seemed to shiver under pressure, a man lay upon a throne that appeared more like an altar.

His eyes suddenly opened.

The room shuddered. The very castle groaned as if the world itself acknowledged his awakening.

A monstrous aura flooded the chamber. His form was cloaked in shadow, his presence so overwhelming that even the walls around him bent and flickered, as though unable to define his existence. Only his eyes were clearly visible—one black as void, the other a radiant white. Together, they mirrored the sun that ruled his world.

He glanced into the distance, through realms and across dimensions. A faint smirk curled on his lips as he spoke, his voice like frost on ancient stone.

"Vorometallicae... useless trash."

He said the words with complete dismissal, as if swatting away the remnants of a failed experiment. But then his gaze shifted—sharper now, filled with cold calculation.

"And as for those four..."

He didn’t finish the sentence. But the temperature in the room plummeted. A dreadful silence followed, and an invisible wave of fear swept through the castle.

Even Legends, stationed throughout the many towers of the stronghold, trembled slightly, instinctively clutching their weapons or placing a hand on their chests. They did not know what had caused the chill—but they felt it in their bones.