Beyond the Apocalypse-Chapter 1053: A corridor of death

Vlad’s power surged, his aura expanding outward as the Law of Space ignited in response to his will. Without hesitation, he hurled all six god-weapons directly into the fabric of space itself. The weapons vanished—not thrown, not dropped, but embedded into reality like anchors driven into existence.

Instantly, the space surrounding the wall to the Sixth Level trembled violently.

A fraction of a second later, space ruptured.

Blades erupted from every direction, emerging from invisible fractures in reality. Swords tore through the air in perfect synchronization, dismembering charging Gods mid-stride or killing them outright before they could even scream. Divine bodies were sliced apart, severed limbs scattering as golden blood sprayed across the collapsing battlefield. Halos shattered, cores split, and souls were erased before they could flee.

It was not a battle.

It was extermination.

Vlad did not spare the Gods even a glance as they fell. They were no longer worth his attention. His focus had narrowed to a single target, a single presence burning at the end of this level like a festering wound.

Without wasting a single second, his figure blurred.

The True Depravita of Wrath flashed forward, tearing through the remains of the battlefield as he crossed fully into the Sixth Level—his rage sharpened, his purpose absolute, and his vengeance within reach.

The Gods did not stop their attack. Many who had survived on the Fifth and Fourth Levels managed to raise their bloodstained bodies from the ground and were marching toward Vlad’s back.

And if that were not trouble enough, the Gods of the Sixth Level were finally making their move—and they were much stronger than those of the lower levels.

However, none of this meant anything to the True Depravita of Wrath.

Taking a deep breath, his adination faded, and the god weapons returned to their origin, leaving only Gram in his grip as he flashed forward. Wounds lay open, yet they did not diminish the strength of his grip at all as he resumed the rampage.

----

The Sixth Level of Heaven answered the True Depravita of Wrath’s arrival with violence and hatred.

The moment his feet touched the ground, the very laws governing the realm rebelled. The Laws of Heaven were strong enough from this point forward to unleash their power directly against intruders, unleashing the strength of cosmic power that could crush normal Lords like bugs.

Gravity spiked erratically, crashing downward in crushing waves meant to pin him in place. Space folded in on itself, attempting to bend his path into closed loops. Time staggered, accelerating and decelerating in jagged pulses, trying to desynchronize his movements from reality itself.

The pressure was overwhelming, his mind trembled as he attempted to decipher the path forward through the distortion of reality, but even then, the True Depravita of Wrath kept his core power sealed, showing the Archangels nothing but strength and wrathful energy.

The Xaos King stepped forward—and the ground beneath him detonated.

A God of the Sixth Level descended like a falling sun, his body wrapped in concentric halos etched with dense, overlapping laws. With a thunderous roar, he drove a colossal spear of crystallized power straight down toward Vlad’s head. The weapon screamed as it fell, dragging the weight of an entire Divine Kingdom behind it.

His name was Marcus the Great, considered one of the strongest Gods of Heaven—his might surpassed only by the Archangels themselves. When the Gods in the distance saw his attack, many believed the invader would finally meet his end.

Vlad raised one arm.

The spear struck.

The impact obliterated the city beneath them, sending fragments of divine land spiraling into the void. Shockwaves raced outward, flattening everything around them and pulverizing angel legions miles away. For an instant, the battlefield vanished beneath blinding light and ruin.

Then the dust parted.

Vlad stood at the center of the destruction, his arm buried to the elbow in Marcus the Great’s chest.

Marcus’s roar collapsed into a wet, choking sound as Vlad clenched his fist and tore free the heart, crushing it without ceremony. The body fell limp, its halos flickering wildly before shattering into shards of broken law.

Vlad flung the corpse aside and kept moving.

The Sixth Level erupted into chaos, fear, and rage, pushing its defenders beyond the limits of sanity.

Gods poured in from every direction. They moved in layered formations—some engaging directly, others attacking from extreme range. Entire constellations ignited overhead, raining spears of condensed starlight. Rivers of divine fire swept across the land, melting sanctuaries into slag.

A beam struck Vlad’s side and tore clean through him, leaving a gaping hole where ribs and organs should have been. Blood sprayed in a wide arc as his body staggered half a step.

He did not stop.

A God wielding twin greatswords lunged in, carving deep furrows across Vlad’s back. Another slammed a hammer into his spine, forcing him to one knee as the impact cracked bone with an audible snap.

However, just as that God attempted to retreat, the top of his head exploded into flames as Gram cleaved through him. The attack had landed—but it had come at a cost.

For the first time since entering the Sixth Level, Vlad slowed.

The Gods seized the moment.

Chains of authority wrapped around his limbs, digging into flesh and bone. Sigils burned into his skin, attempting to overwrite his existence. A massive construct of interlocking laws descended from above, slamming down to crush him beneath its weight.

Vlad exhaled.

Then he surged upward.

Raw physical force exploded from his body, snapping chains like threads and shattering the construct into fragments of broken law. He rose into the air, blood pouring freely from dozens of wounds.

Still, his grip was steady.

Still, his eyes were calm.

He landed among the Gods like a meteor.

Fists, knees, elbows, and strikes from his flaming swords followed—no techniques, no seals, no divine declarations. Just violence. A punch caved in one God’s chest entirely. A backhand decapitated another, sending his head spinning through the sky.

Vlad seized a third by the leg and used the screaming body as a weapon, smashing it into two others until all three burst apart in showers of divine gore. He then unleashed a massive burst of flames from Gram, consuming two more Gods behind him.

The carnage was immense, yet the Gods continued to close in.

They stabbed, crushed, burned, and erased.

Vlad bled—but he did not stop moving forward.

His wings were torn ragged, one nearly severed. Deep gashes split his torso, exposing muscle and glowing bone. His breathing grew heavy, steam pouring from his mouth as divine toxins and corrupted laws ravaged his system.

With every step, the pressure grew.

The Sixth Level became a corridor of death.

Vlad advanced relentlessly, carving a path straight through the heart of the realm. Divine cities fell behind him in ruin, their light extinguished as their Gods died. Angel legions foolishly attempted to form barriers, only to be obliterated by shockwaves far beyond their comprehension.

A God descended in a storm of lightning, wielding a massive axe crackling with layered thunder laws. He swung with everything he had, the blow splitting the sky itself.

Vlad caught the axe with his left hand.

The impact drove him backward, his boots carving trenches through divine stone. Lightning surged through his body, searing flesh and nerves.

Slowly—inch by inch—Vlad pushed back.

With a roar, he wrenched the axe free and drove it straight through the God’s skull, pinning him to the ground in a spray of blood and shattered halo before ripping Gram from the chest of another fallen foe.

The advance continued.

The closer Vlad drew to the heart of the Sixth Level, the heavier the air became. Laws thickened, pressing down like an ocean. Every step demanded more. Every breath burned.

Then he saw it.

At the far end of the realm, rising above the shattered horizon, stood a structure unlike anything else in Heaven.

A castle.

Not a Divine Kingdom.

Something more.

Its walls were forged from condensed radiance, layered so densely they bent light itself. Towers pierced clouds of living law, and runes the size of cities pulsed across its surface with power that dwarfed even the greatest Gods.

It shone brighter than the sun.

The presence emanating from it was suffocating—ancient, absolute, and watchful.

The Gods felt it too.

That was the home of an Archangel.

Their attacks grew frantic. Desperate.

They could not allow Vlad to reach it.

They threw themselves at him.

Spears pierced his lungs. Blades shattered against his bones. Divine fire burned through his veins. His body was a ruin, held together by nothing but will.

Still, he reached the castle.

With a wrathful roar, Vlad rose into the sky and dove like a comet, breaking through every defense and crashing into the heart of the structure.

There, frozen in shock and horror, stood an Archangel—staring at the blood-soaked figure before her with nothing but terror in his heart.