Beyond the Apocalypse
Chapter 777: The Lord of War’s Master

Chapter 777: The Lord of War’s Master

A solemn silence fell upon everyone in the longhouse. The implications were clear, and the weight of them settled heavily in their hearts.

If Antorus had been the only one corrupted by the alien power, then perhaps there was still hope—his death might have ended the threat. But if the corruption had spread to others, hidden deep within Valhalla, then things were far more dire.

And the worst part was that even the Empress, a Lord, could not sense the presence of the alien influence unless they were actively using its power. That meant these entities could slip unnoticed into the most sacred halls and powerful institutions of Valhalla.

Even Vlad found himself briefly lost for words. He had faced open enemies, armies ten times the size of his own, and impossible odds before. But this... this silent corruption, creeping unseen, corrupting even the proud and honorable Vikings—it was unlike anything he had dealt with. The True Depravita of Wrath had to admit, if only to himself, that he was at a loss.

"Ahhhh..." The Viking Empress exhaled a soft sigh, her voice strained by worry. She gently handed the rusty sword back to Freya. "It’s a powerful weapon. If you can unlock its full potential, it could one day become a Lord Weapon. But be warned—it carries a heavy risk of corruption. Be cautious."

Freya’s gaze sharpened. She gave a respectful nod, taking the sword with renewed determination.

The Empress’s warning was not taken lightly, but Freya was not the same woman she once had been. After inheriting a shard of Vlad’s soul, sharing his memories, and becoming a Depravita herself, her will had grown ironclad. No external corruption could bend a soul as rooted and resolute as that of a master of sin.

"I will now guide you to the Interstellar Teleportation Formation so you may return to Graecia," the Empress said, rising to her feet.

Vlad allowed a small smile to cross his face and gave a short nod of gratitude. He had the means to return to Graecia on his own, but the cost would have been astronomical. The Empress’s offer was both generous and appreciated.

"Should we stay a few more days to ensure everything is in order?" Freya asked softly before they departed.

Though she had severed her official connection to Valhalla and chosen to align with Vlad and the Xaos Kingdom, her heart still beat for her homeland. It would be a lie to pretend she felt nothing.

The Empress smiled warmly at Freya’s concern. "I thank you, my child. But it is better if you leave now. Antorus will not be deterred for long. If given the chance, he will strike without hesitation. And you carry the Royal Totems of Odinvaldr now—protecting Valhalla means protecting yourself. Grow stronger. That is the best thing you can do for us."

Freya nodded solemnly, accepting the truth behind the words.

Without further delay, the group was escorted to a hidden teleportation formation near the longhouse. A unique structure carved into the very bones of a fallen ancient beast, the formation shimmered with interdimensional energy. The Empress stood beside it, lifting her hand and channeling her power into the ancient runes etched along the ground.

"Farewell. I hope we will meet again in a brighter future," she said quietly.

Freya and the True Depravitas bowed deeply, hands clasped in the old Viking salute, before stepping onto the platform. A flash of energy engulfed them, and they were gone.

Only after the last trace of their presence vanished did the Empress’s smile disappear. Her shoulders sagged with exhaustion. The centuries weighed on her like mountains, and the burdens of her people had become nearly unbearable. She stood alone—alone to face a darkness no one else seemed strong enough to fight.

"Ahhh..." she sighed again, and slowly turned, walking back toward her longhouse, heavy with thoughts and fears.

...

Far away, in the inner sanctum of the Lord of War’s stronghold, the air crackled with oppressive energy.

"I... I am sorry!" Antorus’s voice echoed through the hall, cracked with fear.

He was alone, yet his body trembled violently. The pressure in the room was monstrous—so immense it distorted gravity itself. His knees buckled as he collapsed to the ground, the weight forcing his body down until he lay flat, face pressed to the floor.

Totems around his body flickered and twisted as though alive, as if they, too, were screaming in agony. Blood dripped from his mouth, his body trembling as a voice—not spoken but imposed—filled the room with chilling finality.

"YOU... FAIL..."

The words came from nowhere and everywhere at once. They sounded impossibly distant, as though whispered from beyond the edge of the universe, yet they struck with enough power to make Antorus vomit blood. The very walls of the chamber vibrated from the sheer might behind the voice.

Fear—true, primal fear—tore through him. His soul shrieked in protest, and for a moment, he thought his will might shatter entirely.

"YOU... KILL... EMPRESS..."

His eyes widened in horror. This was not what he expected.

He had dared to walk arrogantly across Valhalla, believing the Empress would not act against him because of the risks involved. He was right—so far. But to fight her head-on? That was tantamount to suicide. Even at the twilight of her strength, the Empress was still a Lord, on par with entities like the White Death.

And now... his orders were clear.

"FAIL... AGAIN... DEATH..."

Those last three words etched themselves into Antorus’s bones. He trembled like a child in the face of a god, then clenched his fists and forced himself upright despite the pain.

"I... I will do it!" he gasped.

The overwhelming pressure vanished. Antorus collapsed, panting, his robes soaked in cold sweat. His hands shook violently as he stared at the ground, trying to slow his frantic heart. Slowly, anger began to rise and twist his features.

"All because of them..." he muttered through clenched teeth.

Rage filled his voice.

"Damn that young man. The cat. The wolf. The dragon. All of them!"

The Lord of War of Valhalla roared, the stone beneath him cracking from the force of his fury. Flames of distorted divine energy erupted around him.

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End of Book 8 - the Might of the Xaos Kingdom