Beyond the Apocalypse-Chapter 1030: Lightning approaching

Freya clenched her teeth as the immense energy she had unleashed tore through the battlefield. That attack had carried more power than the one she had used to kill the Devil Lord in Hell itself, a strike fueled by rage, grief, and divine authority. The space ahead of her had collapsed inward, engulfed by blinding light and violent shockwaves.

Yet in the very next second, her eyes widened.

Without hesitation, Freya twisted her body midair, narrowly dodging several blood-red arrows that sliced past her like screaming comets. She landed lightly in the distance, boots skidding across shattered stone, her expression darkening.

"Did my attack... not harm him?"

The thought sent a chill through her heart.

As the dust finally settled, Saro emerged from the devastation.

Horror and disbelief froze Freya in place.

The upper half of Saro’s head was completely gone. His left arm was missing as well, torn away at the shoulder. And yet the abomination still moved.

"Saro... kill..."

The words were slurred and broken, forced out through shattered teeth. Using what remained of his jaw, Saro pulled the string of a grotesque bow formed entirely from his own bones. Arrows of condensed blood materialized and launched forward in rapid succession.

Freya dodged again, but this time her eyes were no longer filled with rage alone.

There was sadness.

Her power granted her empathy. While she often used it to copy and counter the abilities of her enemies, it also allowed her to feel their emotions. And what she felt from Saro was unbearable.

Agony.

Desperation.

Endless suffering.

Even after becoming that twisted abomination, Saro’s mind and soul were still trapped inside. He was a slave—a puppet controlled by something far greater and far crueler. Even with his brain destroyed, his body was forced to keep fighting, locked in a state of eternal pain.

The hatred in Freya’s heart deepened, condensing into something cold and sharp. The Alien Power had corrupted her home, turning Valhalla into a place worse than Hell itself.

But she did not let her emotions slow her down.

She used them as fuel.

With a burst of divine energy, Freya shot forward, her blade glowing as she prepared to free a fellow Viking from his torment—no matter the cost.

---

"Ioro, melt!"

The command came from a bloated abomination with ash-gray skin. Its massive body was swollen with pustules, each one bursting and releasing streams of corrosive acid. Multiple mouths opened across its hands and torso, vomiting torrents of liquid capable of melting space itself.

The acid surged outward at terrifying speed.

Unfortunately for the abomination, the one it faced was far faster.

Ioro barely caught a glimpse of a white blur before instinctively unleashing a massive flood of acid that spread across an entire region. The ground hissed and collapsed under the corrosive deluge.

But his enemy was already behind him.

A thunderous blow slammed into Ioro’s back, accompanied by an explosive shockwave. Before the abomination could react, another strike followed—then another—each hit carrying overwhelming speed and momentum. His massive body was launched into the air, battered helplessly as a devastating combo tore through him.

The final blow came as a tornado kick, descending with such force that it sent Ioro crashing into the distance, his body skidding across the ruined ground.

Only then did the attacker pause.

Ouroboros stood calmly, his body faintly vibrating as residual momentum coursed through his cells. White fur rippled across his frame, interwoven with draconic scales that enhanced both his resilience and striking power. His breath was steady, his gaze sharp and composed.

The True Depravita of Greed showed no injuries whatsoever.

It was not that Ouroboros was vastly stronger than Freya, nor that Ioro was weaker than Saro. The difference lay in skill. Ioro fought purely on instinct, with no battle sense or tactical awareness. Against an opponent whose speed could only be countered with mastery and precision, those flaws were fatal.

Time was of the essence.

Ouroboros opened his maw, releasing a terrifying devouring force. The corrupted Viking corpses scattered across the battlefield were pulled toward him and consumed in an instant. As the last one vanished, the Seal of Sin flared to life.

Power surged.

His body grew stronger. Faster. Deadlier.

Without wasting a second, Ouroboros flashed forward.

Ioro barely had time to scream before he was blasted away once more, only to be met with an unrelenting barrage of strikes. Each blow drove him deeper into the ground, pulverizing flesh and bone alike.

The abomination never stood a chance.

---

On another battlefield, the ground trembled beneath the presence of the largest abomination yet.

It towered over the ruins, standing more than five hundred meters tall. Its massive frame was forged almost entirely from bones, loosely draped with strips of rotting flesh. Each movement produced a dreadful grinding sound, as if the dead themselves screamed within its body.

"Bjon, shatter!"

The abomination roared as it slammed both fists downward, channeling all of its monstrous power. The impact forged a massive crater, shockwaves rippling outward and flattening everything nearby.

When it lifted its arms, there was nothing there.

Then—

A winged figure appeared at its side.

With a casual wave of his hand, Overlord unleashed an ocean of flames infused with crackling yellow lightning. The attack detonated with apocalyptic force, sending the massive abomination rolling through the ruined city, smashing through structures littered with the impaled remains of corrupted Vikings.

There was no pity in Overlord’s eyes.

No hesitation.

The A.I. Chip clone understood the true nature of the abomination before him. Mercy would serve no purpose here.

"Bjon, shatter!"

The creature roared again, rising from the ground, its bones glowing as it endured the flames. With thunderous steps, it charged toward the Archangel soaring above.

Cold determination crossed Overlord’s face.

He extended his palm and summoned the full power of the Gate of Heaven.

The sky split open.

A volley of divine weapons poured forth—spears, swords, halberds—each one enhanced by crackling yellow lightning. They descended like a judgment from the heavens, slamming into the abomination’s massive body.

Bones shattered.

Flesh was torn apart.

Piece by piece, the towering monster was ripped apart under the relentless divine assault, its roars fading beneath the sound of holy annihilation.

---

Vlad continued his battle against Antorus, but the situation was becoming increasingly dangerous for the True Depravita. The Emperor of Valhalla had grown nearly three times in size, his body swelling as corrupted blood spread through every single vein. That tainted power coated his flesh in an obsidian sheen, granting him terrifying strength and speed.

Yet that was only part of the problem.

As the Alien Power flowed deeper into Antorus’s body, his mind unraveled. Madness consumed him. His attacks became reckless, almost suicidal, driven by a singular obsession: to kill the Xaos King, no matter the cost. Wounds meant nothing to him. Pain was irrelevant as long as he could harm his enemy.

Vlad relied on every ounce of his power to evade the Emperor’s relentless assault, but even for him it was becoming difficult. Antorus’s axe flashed toward his head, carrying overwhelming momentum. Vlad twisted his body into an impossible angle, narrowly avoiding decapitation before lashing out with his black blade.

At the last instant, Antorus raised his forearm to block.

The blade nearly severed the arm entirely, biting deep into flesh and bone, but the corrupted muscles convulsed violently, locking the weapon in place. With a crazed roar, Antorus raised his axe high above his head, rainbow light erupting from it with devastating force.

Just before the axe could fall, Vlad’s eyes flared.

A burst of scorching energy erupted from his Celestial Eyes, slamming into Antorus’s chest. The blast burned through corrupted flesh and sent the Emperor of Valhalla flying into the distance. Vlad tore his blade free and steadied himself—but he barely had time to draw a breath.

A massive arc of rainbow light tore through the air toward him.

Vlad immediately split the attack apart using his mastery over space, but a second arc followed... then a third. Each carried crushing force, pushing him further onto the defensive. He cut through them one after another, space screaming as it fractured under the strain.

Then Antorus appeared above him.

The axe descended with terrifying speed and power, the air itself collapsing beneath its weight. Vlad twisted space with all his remaining strength, shifting just enough to save his head from being cleaved in two—but the blow still struck his chest.

The impact shattered bone and flesh alike.

Vlad was blasted away, carving a long trench through the battlefield as blood trailed behind him. He crashed into the ground hard, the force sending debris flying in all directions.

Thanks to his Depravita Constitution, the wounds began to close almost immediately, but the regeneration consumed an enormous amount of energy. His breathing grew heavy as he rose to his feet.

And yet—

A smile slowly spread across Vlad’s face.

That expression of grim satisfaction caused Antorus to hesitate, confusion flickering across his warped features. The Emperor of Valhalla tilted his head, just in time to hear it.

Lightning roared across the heavens.

It was drawing closer.

Faster.