Beyond the Apocalypse-Chapter 1055: Heaven’s Gate: The Flood

As the Archangel saw the face of the True Depravita of Pride, a meaningful light crossed his eyes.

"The intelligence reports claimed that you killed Metatron and took control of his body and soul," the Archangel said. "At first, I did not believe the latter part. But it seems that small rat was telling the truth after all."

He tilted his head slightly, as if reconsidering an old decision.

"Perhaps I should not have killed him."

The Archangel shrugged casually, showing not the slightest concern, before shifting his gaze away from Overlord. His eyes settled instead on the calcined figure standing beside him.

The True Depravita of Wrath.

Vlad remained fused with Jormungandr, Ouroboros, and Fafnir. Every inch of his skin and muscle was calcified, nearly petrified, as though he had been turned into living stone. His body looked broken beyond recovery.

Then—

A violent surge of life and energy erupted from within him.

Power burst outward, instantly shattering the calcified shell encasing his body. Stone exploded into dust as raw vitality flooded every fiber of his being. Wounds sealed in an instant. Muscles reforged. Bones strengthened beyond their previous limits.

Vlad stood renewed.

No—

He was stronger than before.

The catastrophic explosion had burned away his flesh, muscles, bones, and blood entirely, reducing him to nothing more than a scorched shell. Yet his soul and spirit had remained intact—unyielding, indestructible. And in that crucible of annihilation, they had been tempered.

The radiant golden flames had not destroyed him.

They had nourished him.

Every second he had been submerged within them, and their psychic power, the essence of the flames had fed the four True Depravitas, strengthening them at a fundamental level.

Ecstasy and exhilaration surged through the True Depravita of Wrath as he felt his existence ascend to a higher state.

Power flooded every layer of his being—body, soul, spirit, and concept. His foundation strengthened, his limits expanding violently outward. Vlad could feel it clearly: he had broken through another threshold. And he was not alone in this ascent.

Within him, Ouroboros stirred, its endless cycle tightening and deepening, reinforcing the continuity of his existence. Fafnir roared in satisfaction, its draconic essence swelling with desire, might, and domination. Both had advanced greatly, their growth feeding back into Vlad and reinforcing the terrifying synergy of his composite form.

For a brief moment, exhilaration threatened to overwhelm him.

"Focus."

The voice of discipline cut through the surge.

In the very next second, Vlad’s eyes sharpened, the thrill replaced by cold, lethal clarity as he lifted his gaze toward the sky. There, hovering amidst fractured laws and lingering devastation, stood the Archangel with the scythe—silent, watchful, and immeasurably dangerous.

"He is as strong as Metatron," Vlad said slowly, his tone measured. "Possibly stronger."

His gaze lingered on the scythe, the runes along its blade pulsing faintly.

"And his weapon... it carries a principle capable of inflicting wounds that even our True Depravita Constitution cannot easily heal."

The assessment was grim, but precise.

Beside him, the True Depravita of Pride inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the conclusion. There was no denial, no bravado. Only acceptance of reality.

Without another word, Vlad extended his hand. Space rippled, and a heart manifested above his palm—still beating, still radiating dense, violent power. It was not merely flesh, but a condensed convergence of lineage, essence, and authority.

Overlord took it without hesitation.

The moment the heart fused into the True Depravita of Pride’s chest, the Devil Bloodline ignited, and the Demon Soul’s power surged through him like a tidal wave.

Dark radiance coursed through his veins, reinforcing his body and stabilizing the fusion that defined his existence. His presence sharpened, becoming more complete—more absolute.

High above, the Archangel’s gaze narrowed.

He did not attack.

What he had witnessed so far defied logic, precedent, and even the accumulated knowledge of Heaven. Two beings who should not exist. Two powers that violated established hierarchies. Charging in blindly would be foolish.

They could be baiting him.

The massive crater forged by the earlier explosion still warped the battlefield below, its laws unstable, its depths unreadable. It was entirely possible that stepping into it would trigger another catastrophic ability.

So the Archangel waited.

That caution made Vlad frown.

There was no trick. Not anymore.

His rage had been vented. His target had been eliminated. He had no intention of setting traps. Yet the Archangel’s restraint complicated matters. A cautious enemy was always more troublesome than a reckless one.

Then Vlad’s attention shifted.

His gaze fell upon the sword.

The blade that had pierced his skull still stood embedded in the calcified ground, radiating a chilling, oppressive aura. Even now, faint ripples spread from it, freezing the surrounding particles at a fundamental level.

"That weapon..." Vlad muttered.

It was not merely sharp or powerful. It carried a property that paralyzed both soul and body, projecting a force that froze even the particles of a spirit. Against most beings—against 99.999% of all powerhouses in existence—it would have been an instant death sentence.

Only because Vlad housed multiple souls, layered and intertwined, had he been able to bypass its absolute suppression.

He stepped forward and reached for the hilt.

The moment his fingers touched it—

Blood exploded from his hand.

A violent repulsion force surged outward, shredding flesh and bone as if rejecting his very existence. Vlad withdrew his hand instantly, watching as the wound knit itself back together.

"Archangel weapons can only be wielded by Archangels."

Zamael’s words echoed in his mind.

Understanding dawned.

Then, slowly, a smile spread across Vlad’s face.

He turned toward the True Depravita of Pride.

Without hesitation, the two stepped toward one another—and fused.

Their convergence was silent, but the effect was anything but.

Vlad’s power detonated outward, his presence skyrocketing as the Eye of Pride and the Quantum Eye manifested simultaneously on his forehead. Plasma wings erupted from his back, vast and radiant. A crown of light formed above his brow as the Seal of Pride engraved itself into his existence.

In this state, he reached out and grasped the dark sword.

This time, it did not resist.

Power flooded through him.

Vlad lifted the blade and swung it experimentally.

Gray arcs of energy tore across the ground, carving deep trenches through divine stone. More terrifying still, fragments of debris rose into the air—and froze. Pebbles, dust, shattered ruins—all suspended, motionless.

Vlad laughed.

"Hahahaha... amazing."

His soul fused with the weapon completely, granting him understanding of its fundamental principle.

"Quietus," he murmured. "The power to slow the movement of particles and atoms until they freeze completely. This isn’t freezing time... it’s freezing reality itself."

Armed with Quietus and standing at his peak, the True Depravita of Wrath turned toward the Archangel with the scythe.

"I’m tired," Vlad said calmly. "I’ve already vented my rage. I’ve eliminated the target of my vengeance. This should be enough to satisfy me."

High above, the Archangel remained silent, thoughts racing.

"Is he preparing to escape?"

Allowing the True Depravita to leave would be a humiliation to Heaven. Yet forcing a battle now—against a being whose techniques he did not fully understand—was a risk even an Archangel could not take lightly.

"Let him go," the Archangel decided. "Learn his abilities. Then strike at his home. Make his people suffer as collateral."

It was not ideal—but it was acceptable.

Unfortunately for him, Vlad smiled.

A wide, feral smile.

"Success... is no longer enough."

The flame ignited in his eyes was ancient and familiar—the same flame that had saved Terra, conquered the Doomsday World, ended the Greacia Empire’s civil war, and exterminated the Vorometallicae Race.

A flame that had once nearly gone out after his defeat by the Alien Powers.

Now it burned brighter than ever.

"Heaven’s Gate," Vlad declared. "Final Form."

He clasped his hands together, drawing upon the ascending soul state of the True Depravita of Pride, pushing his power beyond restraint.

"The Flood."

The legends spoke of a flood that once drowned the world for forty days and nights, annihilating nearly all life. Whether that myth inspired this power—or was inspired by it—no longer mattered.

Heaven’s Gate expanded.

Its radiance engulfed the Sixth Level entirely, then spilled into the Fifth—and even the Seventh. Golden light filled the sky, stretching endlessly outward.

And then—

Without warning.

Without decree.

Golden weapons began to fall from the sky.

They rained down like judgment itself, killing everyone and destroying everything in their path.

The Archangel’s eyes widened as he witnessed the scale of destruction being unleashed. Entire layers of reality fractured under the golden deluge, divine weapons obliterating everything they touched. And yet—even in the face of such annihilation—he did not lose his composure.

If anything, the cold within his gaze deepened.

His eyes turned glacial as they locked onto the True Depravita of Wrath, all hesitation evaporating. The battlefield no longer mattered. The collateral damage was irrelevant. Only one objective remained.

"I, Lucifer, will end your existence."