Entering Apocalypse in Easy-Mode
Chapter 369: Corruptions

Chapter 369: Corruptions

Gabriel could only watch as Uriel disappeared into the distance, her silhouette shrinking against the vast sky.

Guilt and worry gnawed at him. He knew she was far from stable. Her wounds, both physical and emotional, were too fresh. And yet, she had chosen to push forward alone.

Should he have stopped her? Should he have insisted that she rest, even if it meant delaying their plans?

But his hands were tied. His people needed him. He couldn’t simply turn his back on them, not when fear was thick in their eyes and when uncertainty hung over them like a storm.

Taking a deep breath, he turned his attention to the warrior who had approached him. The man still looked shaken, his battered armor smeared with dried blood.

"Has anything changed?" Gabriel asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him.

The warrior hesitated before shaking his head. "For now, no. But..." He glanced over his shoulder toward the field where the restrained followers lay. "I fear for them, my lord. Their state... I don’t know if they’ll last much longer. I don’t know what should we do to them as well."

Gabriel’s chest tightened. He had feared as much.

Without another word, he strode toward the field, his heavy steps pressing into the bloodied grass.

The scent of blood was thick in the air, mingling with the faint hum of magic that held the corrupted warriors in place.

There they lay, his once-loyal followers now they bound in shimmering chains of divine power.

Some still struggled weakly against their bindings, their bodies trembling as the corruption within them continued to fester.

Others were barely conscious, their breaths ragged, their skin looked rotten and ashen.

A few had lost limbs in the battle, and even now, dark red ichor seeped from their wounds, staining the ground beneath them.

Gabriel clenched his fists. Each of these warriors had once been under his command and he had fought alongside them, trained them, trusted them. And now, they were reduced to this, twisted remnants of their former selves.

His throat burned with the urge to mourn, but he forced it down. There was no time for grief for now.

Instead, his mind turned to Uriel’s words, the warning that still echoed in his thoughts.

"A true god will come. And we will perish."

Gabriel’s brows furrowed. A true god? What did that mean? He had lived for eons and studied the records of all realms — Celestial and Demonic alike — and nowhere had he ever encountered such a prophecy.

There was no being above the them. They were supposed to be the highest powers in the universe.

And yet...

The mysterious man Uriel had fought was proof that their understanding of power was flawed. No being should be able to wield both Angelic and Demonic energy without being torn apart. And yet, he had and had strong enough to push Uriel to this stage.

Gabriel exhaled sharply.

Everything was happening too fast. The corruption, the unknown enemy, the cryptic prophecy... it was too much and too sudden.

What was happening to their world?

And what would become of it if they failed to act in time?

Gabriel started walking, his gaze sweeping over the vast field of sealed followers.

The area stretched far, divided into multiple sections, each one large enough to hold anywhere from a dozen to hundreds of corrupted warriors.

Divine chains glowed faintly in the dimming light, binding the writhing, corrupted bodies to the blood-soaked earth.

Some of them still struggled, their limbs twitching as the dark influence within them fought against their restraints. Others lay eerily still, their eyes open but blank, lost in whatever madness had consumed them.

Scattered among the sections were scholars, mages, and healers — those who had been spared from the corruption yet had chosen to stay behind and lending their magic to sustain the seals.

Gabriel could see their exhaustion mounting, their hands trembling as they channeled energy into the enchantments. Their faces looks pale and drawn and were marked with strain.

They couldn’t keep this up forever.

Gabriel’s jaw tightened. The seals were holding for now, but at this rate, they would eventually break. Not because of the corruption’s strength but because his people would collapse first.

If that happened... the followers would be lost. Or worse, they would turn against them.

He exhaled, his wings shifting as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. There had to be a way to reverse their condition and purge the corruption and bring them back before it was too late.

But what if there wasn’t?

The thought chilled him. If no cure existed and the corruption had already sunk too deep... then there was only one other option. The last resort.

He would have to kill them all.

Gabriel clenched his fists. To be the one to end their lives was unthinkable.

And yet, if it came down to choosing between letting the corruption spread or cutting them down before they could become something far worse...

His stomach twisted, but he forced himself to keep moving.

He moved through the field while his mind preoccupied with the dire situation. He did not know that something far worse was lurking in their midst, hidden beneath a familiar face.

There was something Uriel had failed to mention—something that had slipped past her in the chaos of battle and the haze of exhaustion.

She had forgotten to warn him about the fragment they had taken from beyond the Black Wall.

It had seemed harmless at first, a shattered piece of something ancient and unknowable. But none of them had realized the truth.

The corruption wasn’t simply an affliction that spread like a disease. It was a will, a force, an influence that seeped into the minds and souls of those who carried even the smallest trace of it.

And one among them had already succumbed fully as their agent.

Aeralyn, the dark elf scout.

He stood among the scholars and mages, his expression calm, his posture composed.

His hands glowed with magic as he worked alongside the others, reinforcing the divine seals.

To anyone watching, he was just another devoted warrior, tirelessly doing his part to keep the corruption contained.

But beneath that facade, he was something else entirely.

Aeralyn did not bear the rotting flesh, the twisted limbs, or the violent madness that plagued the others. That was because the corruption had not merely infected his body it had fused with his soul.

He had received the influence of the Ancient God directly, bypassing the crude, external mutations that marked the others.

And so, he could act normally.

He moved among them without suspicion. He spoke with steady words, offered reassurance, and continued his duty like any other.

Even Gabriel, in all his wisdom, had not thought to question him.

How could he? Aeralyn had always been loyal, steadfast, one of his most trusted followers.

And yet, as he stood there, pouring his energy into the seals, he was not merely maintaining them.

He was poisoning them.

Every pulse of magic that flowed from his hands carried the taint of the Ancient God, unseen and unnoticed.

Instead of suppressing the corruption, his power nurtured it, allowing it to fester beneath the surface, spreading ever so slowly, deepening its roots within the afflicted.

It would not happen all at once. No, that would be too obvious.

But soon, very soon, the seals would fail, not from exhaustion or lack of power, but because they had been sabotaged from within.

And when that moment came, when the chains shattered and the corruption surged forth unchecked, Gabriel would not even realize that it had been Aeralyn’s hand guiding their downfall all along.

---

Across the realms, the corruption spread like a silent plague, creeping into places once thought untouchable.

In the Celestial domain, gods and goddesses found themselves battling their own devoted followers. The halls echoed with screams and the clash of weapons.

Many gods or godesses hesitated, unable to bring themselves to strike down those they had nurtured for eons. That hesitation cost them dearly.

Some died to the very hands of their corrupted followers.

The Demonic realm fared differently. Unlike the Celestials, Demons had no illusions of mercy.

The moment corruption was suspected, executions followed. The Demon Kings themselves self wasted no time, their judgment swift and merciless.

Any who displayed the slightest sign of change whether it be a shift in aura, an unnatural twitch, or a whisper of madness were killed without question.

Their generals followed their example, purging their legions before the corruption could take root.

The cost was great, but the spread was minimal. Compassion was a weakness Demons could not afford.

The Archangels also the same. Each faced a crisis within their ranks, forced to battle those who once stood beside them.

Some tried to save their fallen brethren only to realize too late that no salvation awaited the corruption. Their hesitation, like the gods before them, led to bloodshed.

And so, across all realms — Celestial, Demons, and Archangels alike — the corruption wove its way through the cracks, turning allies into enemies.

The world was unraveling, and none were truly prepared for what was coming next.

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