Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 773: New Depravita

Chapter 773: New Depravita

The middle-aged Lord stared at the Viking Empress for a long moment before reluctantly calming the immense aura that radiated from his body. Yet, he made no move to leave. Instead, his gaze slowly shifted toward Freya.

He would never dare to strike the princess with the Empress present, especially while surrounded by so many Viking warriors. But there was no need for direct attack.

Suddenly—

"Ahh—!"

A soft gasp of pain broke the tension, drawing the attention of every warrior present. Heads turned, and all eyes fell upon Freya. Her once-radiant armor dimmed. Her divine totems flickered. The burning demonic power and overwhelming psychic force that had flowed through her retreated back into the glowing orb embedded in her chest.

The transformation was swift—and harrowing.

Her skin paled. Wrinkles appeared across her once-youthful face. Her hair turned silvery gray, aging rapidly as though centuries passed over her in a single breath. The power that had made her an icon of battle evaporated. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground, trembling, barely able to remain upright.

Shock rippled through the Viking crowd.

Many looked around helplessly, searching for some way to help their fallen princess. But no one moved. They could feel it—her life was fading.

The Superior Legends, watching in grim silence, revealed no surprise on their faces. They had expected this. Freya had obtained a power far beyond her limits. Such sacrifices always came at a cost.

And this time, the cost was her life.

A few of them turned toward the Empress, hope flickering in their eyes.

But the old woman shook her head solemnly.

She was a Lord. A wielder of unimaginable power. She could destroy worlds with a wave of her hand—but her Laws were forged for war, justice, and dominion, not healing or rejuvenation.

There was nothing she could do.

Then—footsteps.

Soft, yet steady.

A presence walked forward, breaking the heavy silence. All heads turned once more as they saw the True Depravita of Wrath approaching. At his side were the forms of the small yellow cat, the white werewolf, and the lightfire dragon. All of the Vikings move aside, allowing the True Depravitas to reach the princess.

Freya could barely see. Her vision fractured like broken glass. But even in her final moments, she saw the familiar figure walking toward her. Her body trembled. She felt herself falling—

And then, he caught her.

Vlad appeared beside her and knelt, gently catching her in his arms. He held her close, wrapping her frail frame in a quiet embrace.

A hush fell across the battlefield.

The sight of them—two lovers, united in sorrow, one dying and the other helpless—was enough to move even the hardest warriors to silence. The crowd watched, breath held, hearts heavy.

This was the tragic ending to their saga.

Freya, the brave Viking princess, had defied fate, surpassing all limits to win the fraudulent Tournament of Destiny with her own strength. Vlad, the True Depravita of Wrath, had manifested in righteous fury when those in power tried to deny her destiny, shattering the illusion, killing the monstrous Earl, and revealing the truth.

But even after all that—they had lost.

Freya’s life was slipping away, and no one could stop it.

A gentle, almost serene smile formed on Freya’s lips as her breathing slowed. She closed her eyes. Her heart stopped beating.

Her body stilled.

The glowing totems that had once covered her like sacred armor began to fade, dissolving into flickering particles of light. The Vikings looked on in quiet reverence. They knew what it meant—the grace of Odinvaldr had returned to its source.

Freya was truly gone.

Vlad held her gently, still smiling softly. Even now, as she appeared aged and withered, in his eyes, she remained the most beautiful woman in the world.

A small smile curved the lips of the middle-aged Lord as he observed the scene. It wasn’t the outcome he had wanted—but seeing the Viking hearts overwhelmed with grief and frustration was enough to satisfy him.

He was just about to turn and leave when something stopped him.

He froze.

His eyes widened as he sensed a strange and terrifying force emanating from the young man still kneeling in the crater.

Streams of darkness began pouring in from every direction—spiraling from the sky, rising from the earth, even drawn from the hearts of the Vikings themselves. All of it converged into Vlad.

The middle-aged Lord’s confusion turned to shock.

Vlad ignored him.

He held Freya close and closed his eyes, focusing on the power within—the core of his being, the Depravita Star burning at the center of his soul.

Then he spoke.

His voice echoed through the sky like thunder:

"I call upon the power of Venganza, the First Depravita.

The power of the Seven Sins, I summon.

Split my soul, forever divided."

The words rolled across the firmament like a divine command. Even the Empress’s eyes narrowed, while the crowd stood frozen, unable to comprehend what they were witnessing.

But the Depravitas—Fafnir, Ouroboros, Jormungandr—smiled.

They knew exactly what he was doing.

A dark cocoon of psychic energy enveloped Vlad and Freya. The force surrounding them was so intense that even the Lords couldn’t peer through it. It was a veil of power beyond comprehension.

But Vlad’s voice still rang through the void:

"I give you my soul’s lust.

Soul divided, forever as one.

Reborn as Luxuria, the Insatiable!"

The power behind the words was overwhelming—yet laced with immeasurable pain. It felt as if a part of his soul was being torn away, shredded and reshaped.

No one could look away.

Not even the Lords.

Then, the cocoon began to fade.

And they saw.

Vlad lay unconscious, his body trembling, his aura barely holding together—but stable.

And standing next to him... was Freya.

Alive.

Restored.

Reborn.

Her body had returned to its youthful prime, but more than that, her presence felt stronger—sharper. Her soul now burned with a light that had never been there before.

The crowd stared in disbelief.

Even without her totems, Freya’s new presence felt divine.

She looked down at herself, eyes wide, awestruck. She could feel it—not just resurrection, but transcendence. Her body, her soul—they had changed. She had become something more.

And she knew why.

Vlad had not just saved her.

He had given her part of his soul, dividing himself, splitting the essence of sin to birth a new Depravita.

Luxuria.

Tears welled in her eyes as she turned toward the man who lay unconscious beside her. She reached out, but just before she could kneel beside him, her gaze turned upward.

She sensed something.

A rumble in the sky.

A golden storm gathered above them, blinding and divine. The aura of Odinvaldr descended like a mountain, drowning the land in reverence. The Vikings fell to their knees in unison, their hearts overwhelmed with worship and awe.

The target of the celestial gaze was unmistakable.

Freya.

The Primordial God had witnessed everything—and now, it seemed, had come to bestow a final judgment.

As golden light swirled above, it formed a shape—a ring of runes, ancient and all-powerful. The power of Odinvaldr poured from the heavens, not in wrath... but in blessing.

The Viking Empress smiled.

The divine storm was not a punishment.

It was a return.

The Primordial God was restoring Freya’s totems.

Normally, receiving such grace directly from Odinvaldr, the Primordial God of Valhalla, would be considered the highest honor—a divine gift that any Viking would cherish for the rest of their lives. To be chosen by the Allfather himself was a fate sung of in ancient sagas, something warriors dreamed of from the moment they could lift a blade.

But for Freya, standing beneath the storm of divine power, the moment was anything but simple.

A storm of emotions churned within her: awe, sorrow, gratitude... and conflict.

She turned her gaze toward the man lying unconscious beside her—Vlad, the one who had given everything, even a piece of his soul, to bring her back. In that instant, her heart found its answer.

Determination lit her eyes.

She looked skyward, unflinching, and spoke with unwavering resolve.

"I am no longer part of Valhalla. My home is the Xaos Kingdom."

Her voice rang out across the broken land, clear and defiant. Every Viking present gasped. Even the divine storm above froze, flickering in mid-motion, as though stunned by her declaration.

The power of Odinvaldr had been a gift—a divine attempt to restore her to Valhalla’s fold. But Freya understood the meaning behind it. If she accepted those totems, she would remain bound to this realm.

But when all hope was lost, it wasn’t Valhalla that saved her—it was Vlad.

The choice of where her heart belonged... was already made. She would become part of the Xaos Kingdom, become part of the Depravita Race, and follow Vlad to hell and beyond.

The Vikings around could not help but frown as they saw how the women were rejecting them, but they could understand it.