Vlad hamred the fortress walls with everything he had.
The tables had turned. Now, it was not the Vorotallicae forces hindering Graecia’s advance—it was Graecia’s army halting the montum of the Void’s defenders.
The battlefield trembled as Spartacus, Maximo, and the other Legends shed blood, pouring every ounce of might into their one shared goal: giving Vlad the ti he needed to bring the Void Heart Fortress’ wall down.
They held nothing back. They fought like n possessed. And yet, amid the chaos, one Legendary Vorotallic managed to slip through the barricade.
It was a towering, humanoid abomination made of blackened bones and mutated blood. His right arm bore a massive tallic claw, nearly twice the size of his natural limb, pulsating with corrupted energy. In a flash of dark light, he launched himself forward like a streak of night, aiming straight for Vlad’s unguarded back.
"Schlrrrkk"
The sound of flesh tearing echoed across the battlefield. Every heart froze.
The massive claw pierced Vlad’s back, erging from his chest in a brutal display. Gasps and cries rose from the soldiers of Graecia. The young warrior who had risen like a storm across the battlefield—their erging hero—had just taken a mortal wound.
There was no doubt. His heart had to have been destroyed by that strike. Surely, he was dead.
On the other side, the Vorotallicae soldiers let out cries of triumph. To them, it was a mont of reversal. The one who had just started forging a mythic tale had been extinguished before he could beco a legend.
But then, the impossible happened.
Vlad began to tremble—not from weakness, but from transformation. Before the stunned eyes of both ally and foe, his body shifted. The back beca the front, and suddenly, Vlad was standing face-to-face with the Vorotallic who had just impaled him.
Confusion swept the battlefield.
It wasn’t an illusion. Vlad’s body, a construct of psychic energy, had shifted forms mid-attack. He had turned what should have been a fatal blow into nothing more than a strategic feint.
Many watching didn’t understand how it was possible. Even the Legendary Vorotallicae, convinced he had landed a killing blow, was stunned into hesitation.
That mistake cost him everything.
Without even a breath’s delay, Vlad grabbed the extended claw with two of his arms. The other two flared with divine might as his Sundering Domain ignited. He slashed diagonally—twice.
"ZNNNNNNN!"
Once again, the battlefield rang with the sound of space rupturing.
In the next heartbeat, the head of the Legendary Vorotallice was severed from his shoulders. The body slumped, lifeless.
Without rcy, Vlad ripped the claw from his own chest and tossed the corpse aside. Before their eyes, the wounds across his torso closed instantly, his body regenerating in a flash of radiant black energy and plasma.
"The power of the Depravita race..."
That thought echoed through the minds of every Graecian Legend present. There was no other explanation for such resilience and transformation. Vlad, the True Depravita of Wrath, was unlike anything they had ever seen.
"GET DOWN!"
Vlad reacted instantly as he heard that powerful voice. Without hesitation or question, he dropped low and pulled the decapitated Vorotallic corpse over himself like a makeshift shield.
A heartbeat later, a searing sphere of fire, like a miniature sun, struck the wall where Vlad had been hamring.
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM!"
An explosion of golden fire erupted, engulfing the entire section in divine fla. The blast was so intense it illuminated the entire battlefield, leaving afterimages in the eyes of all who witnessed it.
Even Supre Leader Kutun, standing atop the fortress tower, staggered backward. That explosion wasn’t just powerful—it was terrifying. Even he knew it could leave wounds he might not easily recover from.
The source of that destruction stood calmly behind the ranks of Graecia, Elder Damian.
For centuries, Elder Damian had served as the silent guardian of the Golden Sky Fortress, acting as its clerk and councilor rather than warrior. It had been so long since he stepped onto the battlefield that many had forgotten his true might.
They rembered now.
Stories once dismissed as myth flooded their minds—tales of the ti before Marshal Maximo ascended to command, when Elder Damian alone led the military might of the Golden Sky and slaughtered millions of Vorotallicae in battle.
Elder Damian ignored the awe-filled gazes aid at him. He had no ti for admiration.
His eyes were fixed solely on the massive hole his attack had left in the Void Heart Fortress’s wall.
"Let’s butcher them all!" Not even a second later, Vlad rose from the scorched earth and roared with all his might.
His flesh was blackened by the flas—but his wounds healed instantly. The blast that would have incinerated lesser n had only fueled him. His voice roared like thunder, synced with the rhythm of his unbreakable heart.
That sound... it pulsed through the bodies of every Graecian warrior. Their adrenaline surged. Their fatigue vanished. Their spirits ignited with unshakable determination.
The True Depravita of Wrath, charged into the breach, without fear. The power of wrath coursed through his soul, igniting his determination and power.
He was the first to enter the Void Heart Fortress—not as a prisoner, not as a sacrifice, but as a conqueror. As a force of divine retribution.
The True Depravita of Wrath didn’t know it yet, but in that mont, he was making history.
No Lightborn had ever crossed into the fortress under their own power, carrying the weight of their people’s vengeance like this. He wasn’t just entering enemy territory—he was writing the very story of the war.
And every single warrior behind him knew it.
If not for his relentless and wrathful strikes, Elder Damian’s spell would never have broken through the wall. And even after enduring a friendly blast capable of leveling mountains, Vlad held no resentnt—only wrath. Only conviction.
A will so focused, so deadly, even the greatest generals paused to admire it.
"Onward! Let’s follow the Hero of Wrath!" Elder Damian shouted, his voice a clarion call.
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