Vlad had intended to continue analyzing his condition, diving deeper into the boundless mysteries of his new form, but the presence outside his chamber drew his attention.
He could feel the auras of the three Sky Seed Depravitas—Jormungandr, Ouroboros, and Fafnir—lingering beyond the door, waiting patiently. Along with them, they carried something powerful and radiant: a cocoon of pure lightning energy, pulsing with the unmistakable signature of life.
They had been standing guard. Waiting. Protecting. Anticipating his awakening.
The single word reverberated across space itself, carried not by breath but by psychic transmission. It reached the trio instantly, and without hesitation, they entered the chamber.
Jormungandr stepped through first, the small yellow cat calm and composed. Behind him followed Ouroboros, electric arcs dancing across his fur-lined armor, and Fafnir, his burning crimson eyes gleaming with pride. The three Sky Seed Depravitas had grown much more powerful, and there were signs that their evolution would soon arise.
Wide grins spread across their faces as they laid eyes on Vlad—not recovering, not weakened, but at his apex. Even resting, the air around him was dense with power, like a gravitational field that pulled everything inward.
Awe took root in their expressions. And behind that, longing.
They now understood what it meant to be a True Depravita—what Vlad had become. The resilience, the transformation, the sheer presence. It was impossible not to desire it.
There were dozens of questions swimming in their minds, but the time for discussion would come later. For now, they had a task.
Jormungandr was the first to act. He carefully placed the glowing cocoon at the center of the room, lowering it to the floor with reverent care.
Vlad’s expression sharpened. His eyes locked onto the lightning-shrouded form, and through the glow, he immediately recognized the figure curled within: General Tiberius.
The man’s skin and muscles were charcoal-black, marred with searing burn wounds across every inch of his body. At first glance, it appeared as though he had barely survived, his physical form on the verge of collapse. But Vlad’s perception extended beyond mere appearances. He focused deeper—into the structure of Tiberius’ cells, the flow of life energy, the status of his internal organs.
And what he saw brought relief.
Though the surface was ravaged, Tiberius’ internal condition was far better. His heart and brain had already regenerated. His organs pulsed with controlled energy, sustained by streams of nanometric lightning coursing through his body. The energy was concentrated not on the external shell but within, stimulating continuous healing at a microscopic level.
Jormungandr had made a choice—one Vlad instantly recognized as correct.
He had sacrificed the outer form, pouring every ounce of his Law of Life and lightning healing into the internal systems, anchoring the man’s soul and body together before they unraveled. It was a rare and difficult method of preservation, but it had worked.
"It will take a long time for him to wake," Jormungandr said solemnly, his voice low and steady. "Even longer before he fights again. But his life is no longer in danger."
Though he remained composed, there was unmistakable pride in his expression. He had saved a Legend from death’s doorstep. Even among the divine healers of the Graecia Empire, few could make such a claim.
But he didn’t dwell on it.
Instead, he turned to the practical.
"His space ring has been activating every hour for the past half-day. Someone is trying to reach him. I was waiting for you to decide how to proceed."
Vlad’s eyes narrowed slightly at that. His mind moved quickly. There had been a massive shift in power at the Korokor Stronghold. Communications would need to be monitored—managed—with extreme caution.
Jormungandr moved carefully, detaching the ring from the cocoon without disturbing the flow of energy. Once it was safely removed, he handed it to Vlad.
The True Depravita extended his consciousness into the artifact, quickly overriding the spiritual signature of General Tiberius and asserting his control. No sooner had he done so than the ring pulsed with light.
Someone was calling—again.
Vlad took a deep breath and sent his own spiritual projection into the channel.
A familiar voice shouted back.
"Vlad!" It was Elder Damian, one of the senior overseers of the Graecia military. His voice echoed with authority and suspicion. "What are you doing with General Tiberius’ space ring? How did you gain access to it?"
Vlad’s eyes flickered, but he remained calm.
He took another breath and began to explain. Every word was chosen with precision. Every event was recounted in vivid, perfect detail—from the fall of the human Legends, to the desperate push of the army and the final transformation that led to victory.
Elder Damian was silent throughout.
When the story ended, there was a long pause—seconds stretched thin.
Then the elder’s voice returned, firmer but no longer suspicious.
"...I understand now. I want General Tiberius to contact me the moment he wakes. Until then, I hereby name you commander of the Korokor Stronghold."
The space ring glowed with authority, and Vlad felt his Aura synchronize with it. A wave of spiritual pressure surged through his core as a new connection formed. He was granted full access—not just to communication channels, but to the entire stronghold’s infrastructure and defensive formations.
Before he could even begin exploring the vast power now at his disposal, Elder Damian’s voice echoed again.
"Your mission remains the same: prevent the advance of the Vorometallicae at any cost."
Vlad’s posture straightened. A deep breath filled his lungs.
"I understand," he answered, voice composed.
Then came the next question.
"When will I receive reinforcements?"
He didn’t ask it from fear.
Vlad was powerful—incredibly so. And every day, his control over the Seal of Sin, his Aura, and his Soul Dimension only grew stronger. But he was also realistic. He had killed one Legendary Voroe, severely injured another, and survived. But if three showed up at once? Even he would fall.
If someone appeared on the level of General Maximo, he would not survive.