Chapter 954: The death of a world
Heaven and Hell united against you — that alone was enough to spell death for anyone short of a supreme power, even for those with legions at their command.
Yet the name of the True Depravitas echoed far beyond those realms.
From the radiant spires of Heaven to the infernal depths of Hell, their deeds spread like wildfire into a realm of pure chaos.
It was a place without law or mercy, where the fabric of existence itself writhed and bled. The Abyss — realm of demons — did not thrive on schemes or hierarchies like Hell did. It was a world of carnage and destruction, where every breath was violence and every heartbeat was war.
Each layer of the Abyss was a battlefield, overflowing with rivers of blood and mountains of corpses. It was here, upon one of the most ruined planes — a wasteland stripped bare by unending slaughter — that a gathering of Demon Lords took place.
The air trembled with their presence. Their eyes glowed with cold malice as they studied one another in a tense circle of power.
"The blood of one of the Circle of Death has been spilled," one of them hissed, his voice like blades grinding against stone. "Hajax has fallen — slain by a new race."
He was not the largest among them, his form barely five meters tall, but his aura was immense — vast enough to crush giants and turn lesser demons into dust.
"The pact is clear," another Lord snarled. "Those who slay one of us must die."
One by one, the others nodded. To an outsider, it might have seemed like loyalty, like vengeance born of brotherhood. But the truth was far simpler, far uglier.
It was greed.
The Demon Lords of the Abyss did not seek justice — they sought blood. They lived for chaos and carnage, for the ecstasy of slaughter. And now they had a new prey to hunt.
"They call themselves the Depravitas," the first one continued. "A new race — with only five known members."
For a moment, silence filled the air.
Then the Lords’ lips curled into predatory smiles.
"Five?" one of them chuckled. "Then let us make it simple."
His grin widened, revealing rows of jagged teeth. "Let us go for genocide."
The Abyss roared in approval.
...
Far above the infernal pit, in the halls of the gods, another power stirred.
Valhalla had found a new ruler.
Antorus had seized the throne, his rise as swift as it was brutal. Many questioned how he had claimed the title of Viking Emperor, but those who asked too loudly vanished into the night — or fell into deep, dreamless slumber from which none ever awoke.
Now, standing upon the cliffs of his golden fortress, the new Emperor looked down upon his army — a sea of warriors whose eyes gleamed with bloodlust and pride. The wind carried the echo of drums, the smell of steel, and the promise of vengeance.
"My people!" Antorus’s voice boomed across the battlefield, shaking the very stones beneath their feet. "You stand before me as proud Vikings — warriors of courage and strength! Ours is a race known for valor, for honor, and for the pursuit of rightful justice. And now, it is time to make things right!"
The soldiers straightened, their eyes burning as one.
"We will avenge the murder of our ancient Empress," he thundered, his gaze sweeping across the countless ranks. "Her death shall not go unanswered!"
The army roared, the sound rising like a storm.
"I will not rest," Antorus declared, raising his bloodstained blade high, "until the culprits are burned to ashes. I will not rest until the Depravita Race is consumed in the fires of obliteration!"
The cry that followed shook the mountains.
And so, another army began to march — a tide of divine warriors gathering for vengeance.
...
Far from Heaven, Hell, Abyss, and Valhalla, the True Depravitas stood in the silence of the void, their faces serene as they watched the final moments of the Zanis Homeworld.
None of them yet knew the storm that was rising — the alliances forming in shadows, the worlds whispering their names with hate.
To them, this moment was peace.
They smiled as they hovered in the empty skies, gazing upon the once-proud planet below. The Origin Power of the world continued to drain into their hands, pulled by vast conduits of energy. The aura of death grew denser by the hour.
The oceans were gone. The mountains had turned to ash. The atmosphere itself had vanished, leaving only silence and decay. What had once been a shining jewel of civilization was now a pale, lifeless sphere suspended in darkness.
Yet there was no sorrow in their hearts — only satisfaction.
The Zanis Homeworld had been a gateway to the Dark Dimension, a bridge through which monstrous entities once sought entry into their universe. Its destruction ensured that no one would ever again attempt to summon the horrors that dwelled beyond creation.
If anything, they felt relief.
Weeks passed. At last, a radiant figure emerged from the dead world, an Archangel. For weeks, he had been feeding the Nightmare Universe with the death energy that blanketed the planet. Now that the process was complete, it was time to depart.
The once-majestic world was utterly empty, drained to its core. Just as Overlord ascended, the final Origin Pillars began to retract.
At a gesture from the White Death, the towering obelisks pulled free from the planet’s crust, rising into the void like titans of light before drifting back toward the colossal White Blade — the Emperor’s divine warship.
The power contained within them was unimaginable, capable of fueling countless miracles and weapons. Alexandro already had plans forming in his mind.
But when his gaze met that of the Archangel, his stern expression softened slightly. He nodded.
A third of that power, by their pact, belonged to the Xaos Kingdom. That had been the price of their alliance.
Still, he did not linger on the thought. His eyes sharpened as he looked toward the dying world below.
"Everyone ready?" he asked.
The warriors surrounding him adopted solemn expressions and nodded as one. The death of a world was not an ordinary event. It was an apocalypse, a moment of divine finality that only the strong could witness without being consumed.
Alexandro raised his hand. "Then let it end."
The White Blade began to hum, divine engines awakening with a blinding flare of energy. The runes engraved along its hull ignited, each one channeling the full might of the ship’s god-forged heart.
A single beam of light erupted from its core — a cannon of pure destruction, bright enough to rival the birth of a star.
It struck the Zanis Homeworld square in its heart.
The planet convulsed. Cracks spidered across its surface, glowing like molten gold. The sound that followed was beyond hearing — a roar that existed only in the soul.
The core imploded.