CHAPTER 944: FACING THE MASTER

Vlad did not have the time—or the luxury—to worry about the fate of the Zanis Family. In truth, their destiny had already been sealed. Even if they somehow survived the chaos of the battlefield raging above, they would still be hunted down and executed in the days to come.

The White Death had declared their bloodline a traitor to the empire, and Alexandro was not a man known for empty promises. When he spoke of erasure, it was a sentence carried to the very last drop of blood.

Taking a long, steady breath, Vlad sharpened his gaze as he marched deeper into the pit. His psychic power unfurled like a storm, flooding every crevice of the abyss as he searched for the correct path forward. His control over cosmic power had grown tremendously in the past few years. In this current state, his psychic senses pierced beyond the quantum veil itself, peering into the fragile lattice of existence where most Lords saw only darkness.

And yet, even with such mastery, the principles sustaining this summoning pit eluded his comprehension. It was not just a ritual of blood—it was a structure that bent the very Laws of space-time, one step removed from the madness of true gods.

A deep frown hardened his features. Raising one hand, Vlad unleashed a burst of destructive energy that struck directly into the heart of the pit. The blast roared with fire and chaos, swallowing the abyss in blinding light. For a moment, the earth itself trembled. But when the fire cleared, the pit remained unscathed. Not even a scratch marked its surface, and worse still, the portal only pulsed with greater strength, its expansion accelerating.

At this rate, in less than a minute, the rift would grow strong enough to allow the Master to force his way into the world.

Coldness and unshakable determination flared in Vlad’s crimson eyes. His gaze swept over the brainwashed remnants of the Zanis Family, hurling themselves like broken dolls into the abyss. Each body shattered upon the descent, their blood and flesh feeding the summoning gate, fueling the connection to the dark dimension. With no hesitation, Vlad released a surge of death fire. The shockwave expanded in all directions, merciless and absolute, incinerating every last thrall in a single wave of crimson flames.

It was a brutal slaughter, without hesitation or pity. But it had to be done. Their deaths at least severed the constant fuel of blood feeding the pit, interrupting the ritual. The portal still pulsed, energy still rising dangerously, but now Vlad had bought himself a few precious moments to act.

His psychic senses expanded once more—not to study the principles of the pit, which even he could not unravel, but to connect to its energy. He felt the negative force swirling within, the malignant tide of hatred, fear, and despair that powered the ritual and opened the door to the dark dimension.

He steadied his breath. His soul sank into stillness, reaching a state of absolute tranquility. Then, with every fiber of his will, he pulled.

Vlad’s body erupted with shadows as streams of dark psychic energy burst from the pit and surged into him. The ritual howled in defiance, the portal quaking violently as its strength began to weaken. He lacked the knowledge to dismantle the ritual and the raw force to destroy the pit, but he had one weapon no one else possessed: the devouring might of a True Depravita.

He would consume it.

Above, the frimament quaked with another battle. The White Death and Pompeyo clashed like gods, their spears moving faster than light, trails of fire and entropy ripping the world apart. Yet even in their struggle, both men kept an eye on the pit below. They saw the streams of energy pouring into Vlad’s body. They saw the portal weakening.

The White Death allowed himself a radiant smile, brief and fierce. Inwardly, he thanked destiny itself for placing Vlad within his empire at this most crucial hour. But Pompeyo’s reaction was the opposite. His face twisted with hatred, his aura trembling with barely concealed fear. He understood far too well what this meant.

If his Master failed to cross the portal—if the dark dimension remained sealed—then Pompeyo would die here, his bloodline erased forever. That realization froze his heart with terror.

And then, as despair began to flood his soul, the world shook.

"BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!"

The explosion reverberated through the sky, a shockwave so immense it rattled the bones of the world. But it did not come from the battlefield, nor from Vlad’s efforts. It came from the pit. From the other side.

"BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!"

Another detonation, another impact like a divine hammer upon a gate. It was as if something on the far side of the dark dimension was striking, pounding against the barrier with raw, unimaginable force. Space-time cracked at the edges of the pit, the veil between worlds trembling under the onslaught.

Vlad clenched his teeth as agony ripped through him. Each blow from the Master’s prison sent shockwaves of cosmic power surging into his body. Bones cracked, muscles tore, blood leaked from his mouth as his body buckled beneath the weight of such force. But he did not relent. On the contrary, he doubled his efforts, devouring the portal’s energy with even greater ferocity. His aura flared like a burning star, every ounce of his will bent on consuming the abyss.

"BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!"

His body broke again, blood gushing from his ears, his vision blurring. Yet the pit’s negative energy flowed into him, healing his wounds as fast as they were torn. It was a grueling cycle of destruction and reconstruction, pain and renewal, a dance of torment that pushed his endurance beyond mortal limits.

"BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!"

"BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!"

"BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!"

The blows came faster, each one more devastating than the last. The Master of the dark dimension was no longer patient—he was tearing at the barrier with cosmic rage. Each strike fractured reality itself, widening the cracks in space-time.

Still, Vlad endured. His eyes blazed with determination, his soul screaming with wrath. He consumed more and more of the abyss, draining the portal with a frenzy that bordered on madness.

And then it happened.

"CRACK!"

The sound of ultimate shattering echoed across existence. The barrier holding the Master in place broke. Space-time split apart like fragile glass. A massive, gaping rift tore open, vast enough to eclipse the mountains, vast enough to swallow a world.

For an instant, the entire Zanis Homeworld seemed to freeze. The battles raging above, the clashing of spears, the roaring of cannons—all fell silent as every eye turned toward the pit. Through the widening rift, two eyes emerged from the abyss. They were not merely eyes of flesh, but voids of unmaking—cold, absolute, and infinite. Their gaze alone seemed capable of unraveling all essence, reducing everything civilized, ordered, and peaceful into an endless ocean of death and madness.

Pompeyo’s lips stretched into a grin so wide it looked as if his face might split apart. His eyes glittered with ecstasy, with devotion, with the unholy bliss of a zealot finally beholding his god. To him, this was salvation—the triumph of his faith and ambition.

But for everyone else, terror reigned. Warriors who had faced countless battles felt their hearts freeze in their chests. Sages and Legends who had seen horrors from the Abyss felt their minds shudder on the edge of collapse. This was not simply an enemy—it was doom itself, given flesh.

The abyssal eyes locked onto one figure: Vlad.

Before he could even breathe, a hand pierced through the rift. It was vast, with fingers like mountains and skin composed of shifting void, each motion carrying the weight of collapsing stars. That hand reached directly for him, ready to crush the insignificant insect that had dared to oppose the summoning.

For the first time, Vlad felt a sense of utter finality. Teleportation was impossible—the Master’s presence had sealed the very fabric of space-time, as well as emotions and psychic power. No escape, no salvation. Death was already upon him.

And yet, even as despair closed around him, Vlad did not break. His eyes flared with rage, determination, and madness. The True Depravita of Wrath roared with every fiber of his soul.

"ARRRRHHHHHHHHGGGG!"

He knew the truth. He had nothing strong enough to repel that hand. No weapon could pierce it, no shield could resist it. But there was one thing he could still do. One last act. One last defiance.

Devour.

The sinful eyes across his forehead flared open, all of them blazing as one in response to his resolve. Vlad unleashed the entirety of his essence, forcing the devouring power of his being to its absolute limit. The pit quaked as he consumed every last iota of negative energy that sustained the portal.

The world shuddered. The rift that had been torn open faltered. Reality convulsed violently, the connection to the dark dimension destabilizing.

And then—

"CRACK!"

The portal collapsed. The summoning severed.

The Master’s arm, still reaching through the breach, was caught as the fabric of the universe slammed shut. With a sound like the tearing of worlds, the limb was sliced cleanly away.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

A scream of pain echoed from the dark dimension, so vast it rattled the skies of the Zanis Homeworld. The severed hand plummeted, crashing onto the earth with the weight of a mountain. Silence followed, broken only by the ringing in every ear and the pounding of every terrified heart.

Just moments ago, they had all looked upon the greatest horror of their existence. Just moments ago, the Master of the abyss had nearly crossed into their reality. And yet, against all odds, the portal had been shut. The unimaginable had been thwarted.

Vlad lay trembling, every nerve in his body burning. His vision swam, his chest heaved raggedly, but he was alive. He had not been crushed, not been erased. His desperate gamble had worked.

For a fleeting second, a trace of grim satisfaction flickered across his bloodied lips. But before relief could settle in, his eyes widened in fresh horror.

The severed hand of the Master began to twitch.