With the Voroe shield-bearers eliminated, the energy towers of the Korokor Stronghold glowed to life. Within seconds, they unleashed their stored might, launching a barrage of fireballs that tore through the sky like flaming meteors.
The timing had been perfect. The shield-bearers fell so swiftly that the rest of the Voroe battalion, now packed and bunched together, was left vulnerable, scrambling to reorganize as their front line collapsed.
"BOOOOOM!" "BOOOOOM!" "BOOOOOM!" "BOOOOOM!" "BOOOOOM!" "BOOOOOM!"
Explosion after explosion thundered across the battlefield, lighting up the land with bursts of flame and smoke. Graecia’s soldiers couldn’t help but grin as they watched the fireballs detonate within the enemy ranks, disintegrating clusters of Voroe warriors.
Of course, there was one Greacian soldier amidst the enemy lines—but no one worried for him. Not when that man was the Depravita of Wrath, master of the Law of Space.
Vlad moved like a storm wrapped in steel and fury. His eyes blazed with wrath, his senses heightened to such an extreme level that it felt as though the entire battlefield existed within his mind. He was aware of everything: every shift in the enemy’s position, every explosive approaching from behind, every desperate attempt to halt his rampage.
A massive hammer came crashing down upon him, swung by a towering Half-Step Legend Voroe. But Vlad had already teleported away, reappearing at the opposite edge of his spatial domain. Before the enemy even realized where he’d gone, Vlad brought his sword down on a group of Sages.
His blade was like death itself—fast, merciless, and absolute.
One Sage reacted quickly, relying on his talents and abilities to raise a shield just in time to save his head. But even so, Vlad’s blade carved deep into his shoulder.
The Mark of Cain flared to life, and the wound expanded grotesquely, black energy ripping through muscle and sinew until it reached the Sage’s throat. Blood burst forth as the monster collapsed.
Vlad didn’t linger to confirm the kill. He didn’t need to. The siphoned vitality from the Mark of Cain flooded into his veins, sharpening his focus and revitalizing his body.
The Depravita of Wrath was in a full rampage, his fury wild and unrelenting. He held nothing back, channeling his wrath into every strike, every blink, every motion.
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Built into his armor were pre-packed energy vials from the Military Logistics Center. With a simple thought, the liquid flowed directly into his mouth, replenishing his reserves every five minutes.
It was an unsustainable method, one that would leave his body reeling once the supply ran out—but Vlad didn’t care. Rest would heal the backlash. What mattered now was destruction.
After twenty-five minutes of carnage, two Half-Step Legends finally intercepted him, halting his momentum. One resembled a humanoid wreathed in metallic shadows, shifting and flickering like liquid steel. The other was the lion-like Voroe from before, golden-clawed and burning with fury.
Their eyes burned with hatred.
Voroe did not mourn like humans did, but even they felt the losses inflicted by Vlad. His rampage had devastated their lines and weakened their formation. Worse still, it had emboldened the Graecia forces, who were now advancing rapidly.
"You bastard!" the lion-like Voroe roared as he charged forward, flanked by his shadowy comrade.
Vlad’s expression remained cold, calculated—but the fire in his eyes burned brighter than ever. He advanced with measured steps, his sword glowing with spatial energy, the air warping subtly around him.
Claws radiating golden light. Blows laced with shadow. A blade rippling with the power of space. The three clashed in an eruption of force, shaking the very ground beneath them. Their battle elevated the tone of the battlefield, becoming the new epicenter of violence and energy.
And though most soldiers couldn’t follow the finer details of their exchange, the sheer bloodlust radiating from Vlad inspired the Graecia Sages behind him.
They drew power from his rage, from his presence, as though his wrath awakened something primal in them. They surged forward, crashing into the Voroe with renewed fury.
The Graecia advance turned into a steamroller of divine retribution.
Meanwhile, Vlad’s eyes remained locked on his two opponents. The sharpness in his gaze intensified with each moment until finally, they glowed with pure resolve.
Another laser beam fired from his eyes, blasting the shadow-clad Half-Step Legend back, leaving the lion-like Voroe exposed and alone. A flicker of dread passed through the beast’s golden eyes.
The Depravita of Wrath was focused entirely on him.
The lion-Voroe instinctively took a step back, but before he could create distance, Vlad surged forward. His aura erupted one final time, flooding his blade with the last, seething wave of Depravita Aura.
Sensing the danger, the lion-Voroe let his own wrath take over. With a roar, he lunged with both claws, each one gleaming with the power of golden penetration—a force that could pierce Sage-tier armor like butter.
Vlad didn’t hesitate. He sidestepped the first claw and allowed the second to rip through his left shoulder. Blood poured from the wound, but he was now close enough.
He raised his sword, aiming with perfect precision, and poured every ounce of his remaining strength into the strike.
A deafening sunder echoed across the battlefield. For one long, frozen second, everything went silent.
Then, the lion-Voroe’s body split in two—from the left side of his waist to the right side of his shoulder. Blood sprayed into the air as the two halves collapsed in opposite directions.
Gasps rippled across the battlefield. The Voroe forces faltered, visibly shaken by the brutal execution of one of their champions. The Graecia troops roared in response, their morale exploding as they pressed the advantage.
And in the center of the chaos stood Vlad—bleeding, breathing heavily, but still on his feet. His sword pulsed with fury. His body trembled from the effort. Yet in his eyes burned the same indomitable fire.