Beyond the Apocalypse-Chapter 978: Fleshcrafter

The presence of a Vorometallicae Lord in the very heart of Valhalla was undeniable proof of what Vlad had feared from the beginning. The Vorometallicae were not merely allies of Antorus. They were his partners.

Yet even that revelation paled compared to what Vlad’s A.I. Chip revealed next. His gaze drifted toward the containment pods that lined the walls once more and activated a full-spectrum scan.

A second later, the robotic voice echoed in his mind.

[Targets undergoing genetic and spiritual alteration. Biological structure merging with metallic and mechanical components. Resulting hybridization resembles the Vorometallicae genetic pattern.]

For a heartbeat, Vlad stood frozen. His eyes widened, and an unfamiliar chill spread through his veins.

"Abominations..." he whispered.

That was the only word that fit.

Vlad was not opposed to genetic modification or bioengineering. He and Overlord had personally created the Nightmare Knights, merging flesh with power to build perfect soldiers. But this—this was different.

The monstrosities within those pods violated everything that Odinvaldr, the Primordial God of Bloodshed and Battle, had ever taught.

Odinvaldr’s philosophy was simple: true strength resided in flesh, spirit, and will—not in steel or circuitry. To graft metal into one’s body, to replace sinew and bone with machinery, was the ultimate sacrilege.

"It’s as if every act they commit," Vlad murmured, "is designed as a mockery—a deliberate desecration of everything the Vikings once stood for."

He began to understand. The Alien Power behind all this was not simply conquering Valhalla—it was rewriting it. Twisting every ideal, every tradition, every sacred law into its polar opposite.

He moved silently through the corridor, eyes scanning the endless rows of pods. There were thousands, each containing a Viking warrior of Guardian or Sage rank.

The mutations were horrific: skin fused with molten alloy, veins replaced by streams of liquid light. In some, mechanical tendrils had burst from their backs, still writhing as if alive.

He knew Antorus would not hesitate to use even children if he could—but the process was too extreme. Anyone below the Guardian Tier would perish before the transformation completed.

It was a small mercy, though it offered no comfort.

The sight filled Vlad with pity, but there was nothing he could do for them now. He had neither the time nor the power to undo such corruption. 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

Vlad pressed deeper into the stronghold. The deeper he went, the more numerous the Vorometallicae became.

At first, they appeared only as guards—hulking sentinels patrolling the corridors. But as he descended, they replaced the Vikings entirely. Every chamber, every hall, every antechamber was filled with the rhythmic echo of their metallic steps.

There was no trace of humanity left in Valhalla’s core. Only steel, smoke, and silence.

Hours passed. The journey tested every ounce of his patience and focus. One mistake, one surge of power, and he would be exposed.

Finally, he reached it—the Throne Hall.

The doors before him were colossal, carved from black metal and inscribed with runes that bled crimson light. From beyond them, he could sense the weight of multiple powerful auras—so immense that even through the barriers, they pressed against his skin like the breath of a storm.

He dared not enter. His stealth abilities, enhanced though they were, would not fool those within.

Fortunately, Vlad did not need to see them directly.

He closed his eyes, allowing his A.I. Chip to extend beyond the physical threshold of the hall. A virtual reconstruction began forming in his mind—a three-dimensional image crafted from energy readings, psychic echoes, and residual data.

Slowly, the silhouettes appeared.

There were four figures within the throne room.

At the center sat Antorus, the new Emperor of Valhalla. His body radiated a dark, oppressive majesty. The Totems etched into his flesh glowed black, their runic geometry twisting space itself. Even through the projection, Vlad could feel the distortion—the way Antorus’s very presence warped the air.

To his left and right stood two Vorometallicae Lords.

The first was a monster of molten metal and flesh, his armor-like body gleaming with a dark crimson sheen. Veins of liquid fire pulsed beneath his skin, and jagged spikes grew from his shoulders and spine, giving him a draconic silhouette. His eyes burned like twin furnaces—pure destruction given form.

The second... Vlad recognized instantly.

"Barbatos," he breathed.

Now, Barbatos stood reborn—his limbs regrown, though his aura was still weaker than at his peak. Even so, the pressure radiating from him could crush mountains.

But the figure opposite Antorus drew Vlad’s full attention.

He was neither Viking nor Vorometallicae. He was something older—something that truly did not belong to this place.

A tall, emaciated figure cloaked in a mantle of dark fur that writhed like living shadow. From within the tangled mass emerged a gaunt, ashen face crowned by two immense, twisted horns. His eyes glowed with a cold, alien light, ancient and calculating.

Even through the A.I. Chip’s scan, Vlad felt a chill crawl down his spine.

"A Fleshcrafter," he whispered.

He had read of them only in the archives of the Graecia Empire. The Fleshcrafters were said to dwell deep within the fiendish realm of Tartaro—creators of life and death, masters of organic manipulation. They were the ones who had designed entire species, splicing genes from angels and demons to birth monsters and demigods alike.

According to the old records, some of the strongest bloodlines in Hell and the Abyss were born of their experiments.

Now, one stood here—in Valhalla.

"So they are the ones reshaping the Vikings," Vlad murmured. "The architects of this new breed."

The realization tightened his chest. If the Fleshcrafters had joined forces with the Vorometallicae and Antorus, then this was no mere invasion. It was a genesis—the creation of a new race, a fusion of divine, demonic, and alien essence.

He got what he came for and was about to retreat when his chip pulsed again. The scan completed, and a final image formed in his mind.

At the center of the circle formed by Antorus and the three Lords stood a fifth presence.