Beyond the Apocalypse-Chapter 1057: Leaving Heaven

The colossal skeleton dragon roared soundlessly and surged forward, jaws opening wide, intent on devouring the True Depravita of Wrath entirely.

Vlad’s eyes were cold, as his energy surged stronger and stronger, pouring everything he had into it. That was more than enough to shatter that incarnation.

Yet, just as the dragon closed in, a divine spear descended from the heavens. The weapon carried unmistakable Paragon-tier power, wrapped in blazing golden authority. It struck the skeletal dragon from above, obliterating its form in a single catastrophic impact. Bones disintegrated into dust, erased before they could even freeze.

Vlad blasted through the remnants, the power in his swords ready to explode. His focus locked on one target alone—the Archangel of Death.

But Lucifer was gone.

Vlad’s eyes widened as his perception flared. In the same instant the dragon had been destroyed, Lucifer manifested behind him, using the lingering essence of death from the skeletal construct as a teleportation anchor.

Before Vlad could react, the scythe struck.

The blade pierced cleanly through his back and erupted from his chest, crimson energy spilling outward in violent arcs. The damage was horrific, enough to kill nearly any being in existence—but Vlad was no ordinary entity. As a True Depravita, the wound was not immediately lethal.

That was when Lucifer spoke.

"Scythe of Death: End of the Soul."

The incantation echoed with absolute finality.

And in that moment, a soul was erased.

The eyes of the Archangel of Death were filled with absolute coldness as the technique completed its execution.

Lucifer felt it clearly.

A soul was dispersing.

The sensation was unmistakable—an echoing collapse within the fabric of existence itself, as though a candle had been extinguished not by wind, but by decree. The Heaven’s Gate above the battlefield trembled, its radiance flickering violently before beginning to dissolve, the divine construct unraveling as its sustaining authority faded.

This was the highest manifestation of Lucifer’s Gift.

The Reaper.

A power that did not wound, did not corrupt, did not destroy the body—but erased the soul directly, bypassing all defenses that relied on regeneration or immortality. To be struck by it was to be denied continuation.

Lucifer allowed himself a single, restrained exhale.

Victory was assured.

Or so he believed.

"Hmph."

A sound cut through the silence.

A sneer.

Lucifer’s eyes widened.

Before the Archangel of Death could react, a blade pierced straight through his chest.

The Quietus Sword emerged from his back in a violent spray of blood and frozen fragments, its gray authority screaming as it sundered flesh, punctured his right lung, and nicked the edge of his heart. The physical damage alone was horrifying—but that was only the beginning.

Quietus flooded inward.

The power of absolute stasis invaded Lucifer’s bloodstream, freezing the function of his lungs mid-breath, arresting blood flow, crystallizing cellular motion. His divine body convulsed as the authority of death clashed violently with the authority of frozen reality.

"How... did I not see it?"

Lucifer looked down in disbelief.

The Quietus Sword had emerged from Vlad’s back. The True Depravita drove it into his own chest and then extended outward and struck the Archangel directly.

Lucifer snarled, clenching his teeth as pain unlike anything he had felt before tore through his existence. With a violent motion, he yanked the scythe free from Vlad’s chest and retreated into the air, blood leaking from his mouth, eyes, and nose as the psychic backlash of the True Depravita’s power wreaked havoc on his soul.

The gray stasis continued to spread.

Lucifer had to actively suppress it, channeling massive amounts of authority just to prevent his heart from freezing entirely.

Below him, Vlad staggered.

The True Depravita of Wrath clenched his teeth, forcing himself upright as he ripped the sword free from his own chest. Blood poured freely from the wound, refusing to close.

"That was close," Vlad muttered coldly.

Lucifer’s final attack had not failed.

It had done exactly what it was meant to do.

At the last instant, Vlad had sacrificed one of the Demon Souls bound within him, using it as a replacement target. The soul had vanished completely—erased beyond recovery—while Vlad himself took only partial damage.

His eyes darkened.

"My speed has decreased," Vlad assessed grimly. "And my control over lightning has dropped significantly."

The destroyed soul belonged to Ouroboros’s Demon Lord.

Vlad had not had time to choose. In that fraction of a second, instinct alone had guided him—and losing speed was among the worst possible outcomes.

"My regeneration isn’t closing the wound in my chest," he continued, narrowing his eyes. "And even if it could, the energy required would leave me completely empty."

His condition was awful.

Yet when he looked at Lucifer again, something sharp flickered in his gaze.

The Archangel of Death’s blood—normally radiant crimson—had taken on a muted gray hue.

"He took a lot of damage too."

The Quietus authority was still active inside Lucifer’s body.

Killing intent surged within Vlad.

But then—

His eyes narrowed.

He turned his head slightly.

"More Gods are coming."

He could feel them now—more than half a dozen divine presences approaching rapidly. Several of them carried Late-Tier Lord power. In a one-on-one fight, they were insignificant to Vlad. But in his current condition?

Impossible.

Killing Lucifer alone would already require gambling his life.

Doing so while being attacked from all sides was suicide.

"Ahhh..."

Vlad exhaled slowly.

"I guess things end here."

He clasped his hands together.

Gravity, space, and time began to reverberate around his body, folding inward, overlapping, twisting into a singular convergence. The pressure grew heavier and heavier, until reality itself bent inward—

And swallowed the True Depravita of Wrath completely.

Lucifer watched it happen.

He did not attempt to stop him.

Suppressing the gray stasis already invading his bloodstream was taking everything he had. To force a confrontation now would risk death.

His perception expanded outward.

Through the Fourth Level.

The Fifth.

The Seventh.

Coldness deepened in his eyes.

As for the First through Third Levels?

He did not care.

"Xaos King," Lucifer muttered.

The words carried enough chill to freeze the air itself.

With that, the Archangel of Death turned away and vanished—returning to his home in the highest level of Heaven.

---

"PUCK."

Vlad released a mouthful of blood as he stood alone in the void.

Now that the battle was over, the full weight of his injuries crashed down on him. His body trembled violently as catastrophic damage flared across every system at once. Bones creaked. Organs screamed.

Clenching his teeth, Vlad acted immediately.

He sliced away every piece of flesh contaminated by the lingering essence of Lucifer’s scythe, severing entire sections without hesitation. Only once the foreign authority was completely removed could he heal himself.

An ocean of chaotic energy surged around him.

It poured into his body, flooding damaged tissues, reconstructing shattered organs, reforging bones and muscle from the ground up. Time lost meaning as the process continued.

Days passed.

When Vlad finally stood whole once more, he broke the soul fusion.

The expressions on the faces of the True Depravitas were ones of profound exhaustion. Ouroboros in particular looked drained, his presence dimmer after the loss of a Lord-Tier Demon Soul.

Yet beneath the exhaustion—

There was exhilaration.

Ferocity.

They had marched into one of the most powerful forces in the universe alone.

They had carved a path through Heaven itself.

They had defeated two Archangels, maimed them badly enough to force retreat, and killed another outright.

They had traded blows with the Archangel of Death.

And survived.

Vlad clenched his fist.

A wide smile spread across his face.

"We still have a very long way to go before facing The Master," he said, his voice steady and confident. "But we’re rising at a shocking speed."

The light in his eyes burned brighter as he looked at the others.

"We will win this war."

The eyes of the True Depravitas glowed with renewed power and quiet confidence as they nodded in agreement.

Without wasting a single word, they closed their eyes and began to recover their energies. There was no better place for such restoration than the void itself. In this boundless emptiness, they could devour chaotic energy freely.

The journey through Heaven had drained them immensely. Even with their overwhelming devouring speed and near-limitless endurance, the strain of battling Archangels, Gods, and Heaven’s laws had pushed them to their limits. It took several long hours before their auras stabilized and their strength fully returned to its peak.

Once the recovery was complete, Vlad opened his eyes.

"Ouroboros," he said calmly, his voice carrying unquestionable authority. "Return to the Abyss and secure a new Demon Soul. After the attack on Heaven, I highly doubt the rulers of the fiend realms will expect us to make another move against them so soon. That gives us a perfect window."

Ouroboros inclined his head in understanding.

"Overlord will accompany you," Vlad continued. "If any complications arise, the two of you together should be more than capable of escaping—or eliminating the problem entirely."

The True Depravita of Greed and the True Depravita of Pride nodded simultaneously, their expressions composed but sharp.

"The rest of us will return home," Vlad said, his tone softening slightly. "Even if our energy and bodies have recovered, it’s important to rest after such an intense battle—and to assimilate everything we’ve learned."

With the plan set, Vlad fused once more with all four True Depravitas. Space rippled as he raised his hand, and two portals opened before them—one leading toward Terra, the other toward the Abyss.

Without hesitation, the group split.

Three figures vanished toward Terra.

Two stepped into the Abyss.