The power radiating from the red sun was staggering—waves of psychic energy pulsed in every direction, so dense and forceful that they could have easily ignited the very air. Yet, instead of destruction, these emanations brought strength, sustenance, and renewal. It was as though the blazing star existed not to consu but to nurture.
Surrounding the sun were four figures, each suspended in the sky like guardians of the celestial fla. To the right sat a small golden-yellow cat. To the left floated a young woman, serene yet exuding lethal grace. Above hovered a massive white werewolf, and below coiled a fire dragon. Each being absorbed the endless streams of energy, strengthening not only their bodies but their souls and the Depravita Moons that marked their existence.
They were not alone. Below, spread across the ground in disciplined formations, stood hundreds of thousands of elite soldiers of the Xaos Kingdom. Every warrior, every mage, every Nightmare Knight was bathed in the sa nourishing light. The radiation pressed into their flesh and spirits, hardening their bones, refining their souls, and sharpening their latent talents. In that mont, an entire army was evolving—each soldier pushed closer to the next boundary of power.
The instant the four True Depravitas sensed an unfamiliar presence approaching, their heads turned as one. Lethal sharpness flickered in their gazes, and an overwhelming coldness descended, filling the sky with killing intent.
Marshal Maximo froze midair. Though his body was tempered by decades of battle and his cultivation had elevated him to the edge of lordhood, he felt fangs at his throat, claws at his spine, and blades pressing against his neck. A single wrong move, a breath out of rhythm, and he would be annihilated. His instincts scread danger, louder than they ever had on a battlefield.
His eyes widened further as he truly beheld the four Depravitas. Freya, Jormungandr, Ouroboros, and Fafnir—each one had grown beyond recognition. Their power had not rely matured; it had transford into sothing primal and terrifying, the kind of strength that made even his battle-hardened instincts recoil.
The four True Depravitas knew how vulnerable Vlad was, which was why they reacted with killing intent to anything new, but soon recognition dawned. As the four legends studied his appearance and soul, realization followed. This was no enemy but an ally and an old friend. At once, the suffocating killing intent faded. The four nodded lightly toward Overlord, signaling that the man was indeed who he claid to be.
Overlord, who had been running countless simulations in his mind on how best to kill the Marshal with efficiency and speed, relaxed fractionally. His cold deanor softened into sothing closer to formality, adopting a more approachable stance.
Marshal Maximo exhaled, steadying his heart as he shook off the mont of shock. His gaze drifted once more across the battlefield of sky and earth until it returned, inevitably, to the red sun.
"...Is that Vlad?" he asked at last, voice heavy with disbelief.
Overlord’s reply was calm but carried the weight of truth.
"Prima Master was forced to sacrifice both his body and his soul dinsion in the final battle of the Exilion War. During his reconstruction, he has remained unconscious. You have arrived at precisely the right mont—it is nearly ti for his return."
The words struck Maximo like a thunderclap. The endurance of True Depravitas was legendary across the Land of the Three Calamities. Vlad had already proven capable of fighting even when his heart and brain had been pierced, surviving injuries that would kill any other warrior. But to persist after losing not only his body but even his soul dinsion—that was sothing no being should have been able to endure. And yet, here it was, undeniable before his eyes.
Maximo could only sigh, the weight of realization pressing against his chest.
He himself had grown imnsely over the last several years, tempered by constant battles, forged through the brutal trials of the Doomsday World, and strengthened by resources thought impossible to acquire. And yet... despite everything, he had been left behind. This group of young warriors had surpassed him, carving out their legends at speeds that defied reason.
"The world is moving too quickly for these old bones," he muttered with a wry smile.
With that, he crossed his legs midair, adopting a ditative posture as he floated in the sky. There was no need for impatience. He would wait.
Fortunately, the wait was not long. Barely seven hours after his arrival, the red sun began to tremble. Its light flared brighter, waves of psychic force rippling outward like tsunamis. Each pulse was stronger than the last, until the radiance was almost blinding.
The star shrank. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, it condensed upon itself, folding its endless energy into a single point. And then—ergence.
A body took shape.
Before the gathered armies, the massive sun that had ward the world collapsed into the form of a single young man. His physique was sculpted with raw muscle, yet every fiber seed alive with vitality, his entire being vibrating with a power that was nothing short of divine. The energy within him was so overwhelming it made the very air hum.
The four Depravitas lowered their gazes with respect. And across the ranks of Xaos soldiers, murmurs of reverence spread like wildfire.
This new body was more than a vessel—it was a masterpiece. Stronger than his previous form, his soul force vastly expanded, his energy pool deeper than oceans. Vlad had taken his ti during his reconstruction. He had been ticulous, refining every aspect of his existence, perfecting both body and soul to the highest standard attainable.
Then ca the explosion.
"BOOOOOOM!"
A blast of Depravita Aura surged outward as Vlad’s eyes opened. The energy cloaked him like a mantle, a burning pillar that pierced into the highest skies and stabbed into the void beyond.
And then—laughter.
"Hahahahaha!"
The pillar shattered, the aura dispersing like shattered glass, revealing the man within. The True Depravita of Wrath stood reborn, stronger than ever before.
Vlad glanced down at himself, flexing his hands, feeling the rivers of energy coursing through his veins. Every heartbeat was thunder, every breath a storm. His soul had evolved, his existence elevated to a level far beyond what he had been when he faced the Nightmare Universe.
Excitent surged through him, a thrill that lit fire in his chest. Yet the euphoria faded almost instantly as his eyes t Marshal Maximo’s. The joy softened, replaced by a solemn weight.
The War of Exilion was over. But it had only been one battle—a fragnt of a much greater war.
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