Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 772: Seven Sins Falling Sky

Chapter 772: Seven Sins Falling Sky

The clash between Half-Lords continued.

Vlad, empowered by the fusion of the Depravitas, unleashed power on a scale that shattered understanding. His form surged with untamed ferocity. From one second to the next, his physical strength doubled, tripled, rising to absurd levels with no sign of slowing. His speed left even the Lords unable to trace his movements. One moment he was before you; the next, he was everywhere.

His massive sword struck with the fury of lightning and the precision of space itself. Each swing triggered a ripple in reality—tearing fabric, warping gravity, bending dimensions. The air quaked with fire and raw force as sword arcs, charged with flames and electrical might, ripped through the sky.

Earl Octavio had once been a man, then a monster, and now—a beast.

With every blow, his humanity unraveled. His eyes, once calculating and fierce, were now hollow wells of rage. He fought not like a warrior, but like a rabid creature. There was no technique, no form—only instinct and hatred. Wisdom was gone, swallowed by the corruption that now fed on him from within.

BOOM!

Fists met blade in constant, chaotic exchange. Each impact shattered the sky. Fire and blood spilled like rain. Octavio’s corrupted energy flared out of control, matching Vlad blow for blow. He howled as he struck, wild and berserk, but Vlad met him at every turn.

CLANG. CRASH. RIP.

Each collision sent shockwaves slicing across the land, splitting mountains, boiling lakes, and cracking open the sky itself. Lightning storms howled overhead. Tornadoes of flame twisted between them. Space split and folded on itself, threatening to collapse entirely.

And then... it happened.

The zenith.

With a roar, Vlad lifted his blade high. Dozens of sword arcs burst from it, screaming through the sky in twisting, serpentine trails. They curled through the air like celestial dragons, each arc pulsing with the Laws of Space, laced with fire and lightning.

The sword arcs coiled around Earl Octavio, circling tighter and tighter, glowing brighter with every revolution.

Then they vanished—phased directly into space itself.

A moment of silence.

Then—

"ARRRRHHHHGGHHH!"

Earl Octavio screamed as space warped around him. The sword arcs had fused with the very fabric of reality, and now they turned against him, dragging his limbs, bending his bones, crushing his defenses.

There was no intellect in his eyes—only animal panic.

Above, Vlad ascended higher. Wings of divine flame and starlight spread wide behind him as he rose to the peak of the firmament. The air turned still. Reality itself trembled.

Then, his five Depravita eyes began to glow.

The sky cracked.

All the energy above—the clouds, the heat, the spatial currents—began to spiral downward, funneled into Vlad’s body. He inhaled deeply, his chest bulging unnaturally as if about to rupture. But instead of bursting, the energy fused into his blood, his bones, and finally his blade.

And behind him—a phantom realm appeared.

Like a vision drawn from the heavens, a massive inverted pyramid hovered behind the True Depravita, seven glowing levels stretching endlessly into the void. Each level pulsed with a force so ancient and pure that every sentient being instinctively knew what they represented.

The Seven Sins.

Only four of the pyramid’s tiers were illuminated—but even that was enough to make the stars flicker, to make the oceans rise, and to make the gods themselves hold their breath.

And then—

"Final Move: Seven Sins Falling Sky!"

Vlad’s voice thundered across the world, heard across mountains and realms alike.

Then he fell.

Sword-first, descending from heaven like a divine meteor, the pyramid crashing behind him. His form burned with godly might, descending faster than sound, than thought—than light.

Nothing could stop it.

Earl Octavio, driven mad but still possessed of primal instinct, knew what was coming.

And he was afraid.

He thrashed against the invisible binds of space, roaring in desperation, trying to escape. But it was too late.

The attack landed.

CRRRRAAAACKKKK—BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!

The world broke.

A column of fire, lightning, and spatial collapse burst from the point of impact, shooting into the heavens like the wrath of creation itself. The ground detonated. Mountains evaporated. The clouds disintegrated. Even the fabric of space itself cracked, bleeding streams of white flame across the horizon.

The sheer pressure sent a wave of destruction in every direction, moving so fast and so violently that even the Superior Legends were forced to react.

Some of them gritted their teeth, bracing themselves with defensive auras.

Had they been closer, they might not have survived.

But it was the millions of Viking civilians—those who had marched from the arena to witness the duel—who stood most at risk.

The wall of destruction approached.

Then, at the final moment, the Viking Empress appeared. Her eyes glowed with regal fury, and with a single sweep of her hand, she neutralized the wave, parting the fire and lightning like a goddess parting the sea.

As for the middle-aged Lord—he did not move. An invisible field surrounded his form, nullifying the aftermath without so much as flickering.

Silence followed.

The fire faded.

The lightning calmed.

And then the earth gave way, revealing the aftermath.

Where once there had been a battlefield, now there was only a crater—a massive canyon torn into the planet’s surface. Smoke billowed from its edges. The very sky above remained torn, wounded from the force of the impact.

Within the heart of the crater stood two figures.

Vlad, sword at his side, blood dripping from his fingertips.

And Octavio—or what remained of him.

His body was broken, torn, scorched beyond recognition. Limbs twisted, armor shattered, chest pierced clean through.

The monster was no more.

The battle... was over.

The True Depravita had won.

Vlad exhaled.

Then, suddenly—his eyes began to bleed.

Streams of blood poured from the glowing sockets on his forehead. In the next instant, Fafnir, Ouroboros, and Jormungandr emerged from his skull like wraiths, their psychic forms flickering in the air. Their spectral bodies hovered briefly before diving back toward him.

They weren’t done.

Each began to channel their psychic energy into Vlad, stabilizing his trembling form. His body threatened to collapse. His soul, mind, and even his Depravita Star trembled violently under the weight of the fusion.

Merging with Jormungandr had nearly broken him.

Adding Ouroboros and Fafnir to the equation had been suicidal.

And yet, he had endured it.

Barely.

Had it not been for the quick actions of the other Depravitas—channeling their essence to stabilize him—his soul would have cracked like glass.

Above, the middle-aged Lord narrowed his eyes. He could see it clearly now.

Vlad was a threat.

He wasn’t just powerful. He was too powerful. If left unchecked, this boy might one day rise beyond even the Lords.

Killing him would risk the wrath of the White Death...

But letting him live might be worse.

Just as he considered his next move, the Viking Empress returned to his side. Her smile was calm—but her gaze sharp as blades.