Octavio’s deranged laughter burst from the crater like a volcanic eruption. The sound rolled across the battlefield, crashing into the hearts of warriors like a war drum. He stood tall, reborn in the darkness, his skin glistening with metallic sheen, and his aura an unnatural fusion of twisted power.
The Viking Earl raised his arms, flexing with manic delight, veins pulsing with darkened force. His eyes burned black, void of humanity, filled only with unfiltered power and corruption.
"The eternal power of my Lord runs through my veins!" he bellowed, voice laced with ecstasy.
A collective shiver ran through the crowd of onlooking Vikings. Murmurs filled the ranks. Frowns deepened. The true warriors—those loyal to Valhalla’s traditions—felt a cold unease seep into their bones.
They all knew one truth: the only Lord of Valhalla was Odinvaldr.
And yet... whatever coursed through Octavio’s body now, it wasn’t Odinvaldr’s blessing. It was foreign. Wrong. Unnatural.
But Octavio didn’t care. He didn’t hear their doubts. Didn’t see their unease. His gaze was fixed solely on Vlad, who still hovered above, his breath labored, but his sword firmly in hand.
Hatred. Pure, unyielding, limitless hatred flowed from Octavio like smoke from a dying star. View the correct content at NovelHub.
But he never finished.
In a blink, he was gone—vanished into thin air, reappearing an instant later behind Octavio using Depravita Teleportation. His blade shimmered with crackling energy, infused with the essence of storm and void.
The True Depravita of Wrath struck with everything he had.
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"
The impact was seismic. A deafening roar echoed across the land. Cracks spiderwebbed through the sky as if reality itself was breaking beneath the force of his attack. Space twisted. The ground trembled. Whole mountaintops cracked and fell.
Gasps filled the air as the shockwave tore across the battlefield, hurling debris and warriors alike. The sheer power of Vlad’s strike would have obliterated armies.
But when the smoke cleared—
Vlad’s sword had landed cleanly between the man’s shoulder blades... but the blade had only penetrated a few centimeters.
Octavio turned his head slowly, a wicked grin on his face. "Is that all?"
Vlad’s eyes widened—just for a moment.
But that moment was enough.
Octavio twisted and unleashed a devastating fist straight toward Vlad’s chest. Space warped around the attack, sealing off all escape routes. Teleportation became impossible.
Vlad raised his sword defensively, bracing for impact.
The blow landed like a hammer striking the world itself. A kinetic explosion rippled outward, leveling hills and shaking the firmament. Vlad was launched backward, his body flying through the air like a broken spear, skidding across the sky before crashing violently into the earth.
Dust and debris spiraled around his impact crater. Blood poured from his mouth. His chest caved in from the blow, bones shattered, organs ruptured. If not for the divine resilience of his Depravita Constitution, he would’ve already been dead.
Flesh knitted. Bones realigned. His chest rose again with breath. But the pain lingered.
He pushed himself up, vision still swimming, only to see a meteor of black fury descending toward him.
The monstrous Viking had leapt high into the air, his entire body surging downward like a cannonball aimed to end Vlad once and for all.
Vlad rolled, barely dodging the impact, but as he recovered—CRACK!
A brutal kick collided with his ribs, sending him flying skyward, blood streaming from his lips as he spun through the clouds like a ragdoll.
Octavio watched him rise, a smile of utter satisfaction on his face. His transformation had made him into something no longer human. No longer a Viking. He was a weapon. A vessel of dark power.
He stepped forward to deliver the finishing blow—
The voice rang out like divine thunder.
Octavio froze mid-step. So did the crowd.
The voice had not come from the Empress of Valhalla—but from the middle-aged Lord. The man who had wanted the True Depravita to die from the start, yet he now stopped the battle, confusing everybody.
Even Vlad, still coughing blood, raised his eyes in disbelief.
The Lord spoke, voice cold and heavy with judgment.
"You’ve fought well. But you’re not strong enough to win. Accept your weakness. Let Earl Octavio finish the punishment of the cheater, and I’ll let you return to your realm—alive."
The words stirred confusion. Some believed it to be mercy.
But the wiser ones—those who understood power—saw the manipulation behind it.
Vlad saw it immediately.
"He wants me broken. Not dead. He wants me to run back to my world shamed and humiliated, no longer a symbol of defiance, but a lesson to others."
And yet, deep inside, he knew the Lord was right. He couldn’t win—not .
Octavio’s power now eclipsed his own.
To keep fighting blindly would mean death.
"You’re right. I can’t defeat him."
The Lord’s eyes gleamed with victory as he heard those words and saw the spirit of the Viking breaking upon seeing the hero fall.
But then—Vlad smiled. Correct content is on NovelHub
Not the smile of surrender.
The smile of a storm waiting to break.
He ignored the Lord completely, lifting his gaze to the heavens, then turning his burning eyes to Freya.
His voice thundered with command.
Suddenly, two slashes appeared across his forehead, revealing two empty eye sockets, dark and bottomless.
Below, two legendary figures—Fafnir, the True Depravita of Envy, and Ouroboros, the True Depravita of Greed—heard the call.
Their bodies shimmered, transforming into beams of pure psychic light, hurtling through the sky.
They struck Vlad like meteors—fusing into his empty sockets.
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!"
The explosion was unlike anything before it.
The sky fractured. Clouds parted. Time itself seemed to hold its breath.
Psychic energy surged like a tsunami, rolling across the battlefield and pressing against every soul watching,
Where Vlad once stood, now hovered a being unlike anything the universe had seen.
A fusion of Wrath, Gluttony, Greed, and Envy.