Beyond the Apocalypse-Chapter 1021: A battle of speed

At the same time that Jormungandr began his fight with the Devil Lord Verelion, another battle was taking place far away—one utterly opposite to the fiery desert. In the inferno that was the First Layer of Hell lay a massive ice field crowned with towering peaks. It was a truly strange sight, some saying it was born from the death of a massively powerful Devil Lord.

Atop one of the highest peaks of this ice field stood a winged figure, gazing at the golden dome that covered everything. His elongated, humanoid draconic frame appeared built for motion—sleek and sharp, as if shaped by speed itself. Massive wings spread wide, torn and blazing with streaks of red energy that hinted at violent acceleration and sudden bursts of power. His legs and arms looked capable of clearing shocking distances in an instant.

He was Devil Lord Bekin, an embodiment of speed and acceleration—a sovereign who ruled not by weight or brute force, but by unstoppable momentum.

As he attempted to communicate with the rest of the Devil Lords, seeking information about the current state of the battlefield, his eyes suddenly narrowed. A figure bathed in dark energy blasted through the ice field at a terrifying speed, surging up through the peak where Bekin stood and dashing straight toward him. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

Ice shattered into a storm of crystal shards as the white werewolf tore through the mountain like a living comet, dark destructive energy trailing behind him in jagged ribbons. The shockwave alone pulverized the summit, sending avalanches cascading across the frozen plain below.

Bekin vanished an instant before impact.

The werewolf’s charge carved a trench straight through the peak, momentum carrying him forward as shattered ice howled around him. He twisted midair, claws digging into nothing, eyes already tracking.

However, Ouroborous was too late.

Pain bloomed across his ribs.

A flash of crimson passed behind him—so fast it left no afterimage, no distortion, only absence. Then another flash. And another.

Cuts appeared.

Thin. Precise. Surgical.

Blood sprayed across the ice in a delayed arc as Ouroboros was hurled sideways, his massive body skidding across the frozen field for kilometers, carving a canyon through solid ice before he managed to dig his claws in and halt himself.

Only then did the sound arrive.

"CRRRRAAAACK—!"

The air ruptured where Bekin reappeared, standing calmly with one clawed hand extended, crimson energy still dripping from his talons like liquid motion. His wings folded slightly, eyes narrowed in faint disappointment.

"So slow," Bekin murmured.

Ouroboros rose to one knee.

The cold burned his lungs.

He grinned, sharp teeth bared.

"That’s all?" The True Depravita of Greed asked, voice low and amused.

Bekin moved again.

This time, Ouroboros felt it.

The world stuttered as Bekin crossed the distance between them thousands of times in a fraction of a thought. Claws struck in precise sequences—hamstrings, shoulder joints, spinal anchors, pressure points meant to cripple movement before strength could matter.

But the strikes didn’t land cleanly.

The Seal of Greed ignited fully.

Since there was nothing to consume, not a massive battlefield full of corpses, Ouroboros devoured himself.

His own power collapsed inward, consumed and reprocessed in an instant. The golden veins blazed brighter, then shifted, violet bleeding into gold as his circulatory and energetic systems rewrote themselves at catastrophic speed.

The world slowed.

Bekin’s claws almost missed.

Ouroboros twisted, intercepting the strike with his forearm. Sparks erupted as claw met hardened dark energy, the impact sending ripples through the ice beneath them.

Bekin’s eyes widened—just a fraction—as Ouroboros vanished from his perception.

They reappeared a kilometer away.

Then another.

Then above.

Then below.

The ice field shattered in expanding rings as the two figures flickered across it, sonic booms detonating in rapid succession. To any lesser being, the battle would have been invisible—only the destruction marking where motion had occurred.

Bekin adapted instantly.

His wings flared wide, red energy exploding outward as he redirected momentum, using Ouroboros’s speed against him. A tail strike curved through impossible angles, clipping the werewolf’s leg and sending him spinning.

Bekin was there before Ouroboros hit the ground.

A knee drove into Ouroboros’s abdomen, compressing organs, followed by a clawed strike aimed precisely for the heart.

Ouroboros caught Bekin’s wrist at the last second.

The ice beneath them imploded as Ouroboros planted his feet, muscles swelling, golden veins blazing beneath his fur. Dark energy surged around him like a storm given form.

"Got you." The eyes of the True Depravita of Greed were cold.

However, Bekin smiled, his arm vibrating at such speed that it managed to escape from the grip.

Bekin reappeared behind Ouroboros, his claw plunged toward the werewolf’s spine, but only struck an afterimage.

Ouroboros was already moving.

He devoured again.

The Seal of Greed roared as he consumed more of his own power, forcing it through rewritten channels, compressing speed into pure, violent acceleration. The world cracked under the strain as he spun, elbow driving into Bekin’s chest with enough force to fracture space itself.

"BOOOOOOM!"

Bekin was hurled across the ice field, skipping like a meteor, mountains shattering in his wake. He righted himself mid-flight, wings snapping open to arrest momentum, skidding backward until he came to a halt miles away.

For the first time, he did not attack immediately.

Instead, he studied Ouroboros.

The werewolf stood upright, steam rising from his body as the cold met overheated flesh. His veins now glowed a deep gold, pulsing erratically as his body struggled to contain the rewritten systems sustaining his speed.

Bekin’s lips curled.

"So," he said softly, voice carrying effortlessly across the battlefield, "you can almost keep up."

He raised one claw.

The air screamed.

Space folded inward around Bekin as his acceleration spiked beyond even his previous limits. Red energy ignited across his body as he dived from the sky.

Ouroboros lowered his stance, claws digging into the ice, eyes blazing with avarice.

The Seal of Greed burned again.

He devoured once more.

The ice field detonated with the fall of the Devil Lord.

Ouroboros vanished from Bekin’s kill zone in an instant, reappearing inside the Devil Lord’s blind angle.

Bekin managed to dodge the strike and then counter.

A claw flashed upward, slicing cleanly through Ouroboros’s side, missing the heart by millimeters. Blood sprayed in a frozen arc, crystallizing instantly in the air.

Bekin’s tail followed, snapping forward to shatter Ouroboros’s spine.

Ouroboros twisted around the strike, dodging the tail, and dark energy flared as he drove a knee into Bekin’s ribs. The impact rang like a cathedral bell, space rippling outward as the Devil Lord was hurled sideways.

Bekin recovered mid-flight, wings snapping once, twice—then he was back, claws flashing in a storm of red lines. Each strike was perfect. Each one aimed to dismantle rather than overpower.

Ouroboros was being carved apart.

Fur shredded. Muscle opened. Bones cracked under pinpoint force.

But he did not slow.

Every wound fed the Seal of Greed.

Blood loss became fuel. Pain became momentum. His circulatory system rewrote itself again, gold veins spreading across his neck and spine, reinforcing joints, shortening neural pathways, reducing reaction time to near-zero.

The battlefield became invisible.

Mountains exploded without warning. Ice plains collapsed into dust as shockwaves arrived long after the fighters had passed. The golden dome flickered violently.

Bekin attacked from above.

From below.

From inside Ouroboros’s shadow.

Thousands of strikes landed in the span of a breath—cutting, piercing, severing—but the Devil Lord felt something was wrong.

Ouroboros was no longer reacting.

He was anticipating.

His movements began to align with Bekin’s acceleration vectors, not chasing speed but intercepting intent. Dark energy wrapped his limbs like coiled night, reinforcing joints as he slipped between killing lines that should not have been escapable.

Bekin’s eyes narrowed.

For the first time, frustration flickered.

He pushed harder.

Red energy ignited across his entire body as his acceleration spiked again, wings tearing the air apart as he abandoned restraint. Space warped around him, collapsing into streaks as he launched a decisive sequence—one meant to end everything in a single, perfect cascade of strikes.

Ouroboros stepped into it.

The Seal of Greed detonated one last time.

He devoured everything—reserves, circulation, even the stabilizing buffers that kept his body intact. Power compressed into a singular purpose, his form blurring as he reached a speed that shredded ice into plasma beneath his feet.

For one impossible instant—

Ouroboros was faster.

He slipped past Bekin’s opening strike, then the second, then the third, his body twisting with brutal martial precision. His claws raked across Bekin’s back.

Then he struck the spine.

His arm blurred, elbow slamming into the base of Bekin’s neck with terrifying accuracy. The blow did not shatter bone—it displaced it, severing the Devil Lord’s spinal connection in a single, flawless motion.

Bekin froze.

Momentum betrayed him.

Ouroboros was already behind him.

With a snarl, the True Depravita of Greed seized Bekin’s skull, dark energy condensing around his claws.

Then he fired.

A point-blank blast of compressed destructive energy erupted from Ouroboros’s palm, punching cleanly through the back of Bekin’s head. There was no explosion, no wasted force—just a surgical annihilation of the brain.