Chapter 721: Making history (II) - Beyond the Apocalypse - NovelsTime

Beyond the Apocalypse

Chapter 721: Making history (II)

Author: Redsunworld
updatedAt: 2025-07-20

CHAPTER 721: MAKING HISTORY (II)

Vlad hammered the fortress walls with everything he had.

The tables had turned. Now, it was not the Vorometallicae forces hindering Graecia’s advance—it was Graecia’s army halting the momentum of the Void’s defenders.

The battlefield trembled as Spartacus, Maximo, and the other Legends shed blood, pouring every ounce of might into their one shared goal: giving Vlad the time he needed to bring the Void Heart Fortress’ wall down.

They held nothing back. They fought like men possessed. And yet, amid the chaos, one Legendary Vorometallic managed to slip through the barricade.

It was a towering, humanoid abomination made of blackened bones and mutated blood. His right arm bore a massive metallic claw, nearly twice the size of his natural limb, pulsating with corrupted energy. In a flash of dark light, he launched himself forward like a streak of night, aiming straight for Vlad’s unguarded back.

"Schlrrrkk"

The sound of flesh tearing echoed across the battlefield. Every heart froze.

The massive claw pierced Vlad’s back, emerging from his chest in a brutal display. Gasps and cries rose from the soldiers of Graecia. The young warrior who had risen like a storm across the battlefield—their emerging hero—had just taken a mortal wound.

There was no doubt. His heart had to have been destroyed by that strike. Surely, he was dead.

On the other side, the Vorometallicae soldiers let out cries of triumph. To them, it was a moment of reversal. The one who had just started forging a mythic tale had been extinguished before he could become a legend.

But then, the impossible happened.

Vlad began to tremble—not from weakness, but from transformation. Before the stunned eyes of both ally and foe, his body shifted. The back became the front, and suddenly, Vlad was standing face-to-face with the Vorometallic who had just impaled him.

Confusion swept the battlefield.

It wasn’t an illusion. Vlad’s body, a construct of psychic energy, had shifted forms mid-attack. He had turned what should have been a fatal blow into nothing more than a strategic feint.

Many watching didn’t understand how it was possible. Even the Legendary Vorometallicae, convinced he had landed a killing blow, was stunned into hesitation.

That mistake cost him everything.

Without even a breath’s delay, Vlad grabbed the extended claw with two of his arms. The other two flared with divine might as his Sundering Domain ignited. He slashed diagonally—twice.

"ZNNNNNNN!"

Once again, the battlefield rang with the sound of space rupturing.

In the next heartbeat, the head of the Legendary Vorometallice was severed from his shoulders. The body slumped, lifeless.

Without mercy, Vlad ripped the claw from his own chest and tossed the corpse aside. Before their eyes, the wounds across his torso closed instantly, his body regenerating in a flash of radiant black energy and plasma.

"The power of the Depravita race..."

That thought echoed through the minds of every Graecian Legend present. There was no other explanation for such resilience and transformation. Vlad, the True Depravita of Wrath, was unlike anything they had ever seen.

"GET DOWN!"

Vlad reacted instantly as he heard that powerful voice. Without hesitation or question, he dropped low and pulled the decapitated Vorometallic corpse over himself like a makeshift shield.

A heartbeat later, a searing sphere of fire, like a miniature sun, struck the wall where Vlad had been hammering.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM!"

An explosion of golden fire erupted, engulfing the entire section in divine flame. The blast was so intense it illuminated the entire battlefield, leaving afterimages in the eyes of all who witnessed it.

Even Supreme Leader Kutun, standing atop the fortress tower, staggered backward. That explosion wasn’t just powerful—it was terrifying. Even he knew it could leave wounds he might not easily recover from.

The source of that destruction stood calmly behind the ranks of Graecia, Elder Damian.

For centuries, Elder Damian had served as the silent guardian of the Golden Sky Fortress, acting as its clerk and councilor rather than warrior. It had been so long since he stepped onto the battlefield that many had forgotten his true might.

They remembered now.

Stories once dismissed as myth flooded their minds—tales of the time before Marshal Maximo ascended to command, when Elder Damian alone led the military might of the Golden Sky and slaughtered millions of Vorometallicae in battle.

Elder Damian ignored the awe-filled gazes aimed at him. He had no time for admiration.

His eyes were fixed solely on the massive hole his attack had left in the Void Heart Fortress’s wall.

"Let’s butcher them all!" Not even a second later, Vlad rose from the scorched earth and roared with all his might.

His flesh was blackened by the flames—but his wounds healed instantly. The blast that would have incinerated lesser men had only fueled him. His voice roared like thunder, synced with the rhythm of his unbreakable heart.

That sound... it pulsed through the bodies of every Graecian warrior. Their adrenaline surged. Their fatigue vanished. Their spirits ignited with unshakable determination.

The True Depravita of Wrath, charged into the breach, without fear. The power of wrath coursed through his soul, igniting his determination and power.

He was the first to enter the Void Heart Fortress—not as a prisoner, not as a sacrifice, but as a conqueror. As a force of divine retribution.

The True Depravita of Wrath didn’t know it yet, but in that moment, he was making history.

No Lightborn had ever crossed into the fortress under their own power, carrying the weight of their people’s vengeance like this. He wasn’t just entering enemy territory—he was writing the very story of the war.

And every single warrior behind him knew it.

If not for his relentless and wrathful strikes, Elder Damian’s spell would never have broken through the wall. And even after enduring a friendly blast capable of leveling mountains, Vlad held no resentment—only wrath. Only conviction.

A will so focused, so deadly, even the greatest generals paused to admire it.

"Onward! Let’s follow the Hero of Wrath!" Elder Damian shouted, his voice a clarion call.

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