Beyond the Apocalypse-Chapter 1054: Archangel of Death

The name of the Archangel who had attempted to invade the souls of the Xaos King’s children was Naomi.

Unlike most of her brothers and sisters, she did not possess the overwhelming physical might of a Paragon, nor did she command supreme powers of direct destruction. She was not a living cataclysm like those who ruled battlefields through raw force. Instead, her Gifts were far more insidious—and far more dangerous in a different way.

Naomi’s power allowed her to project fragments of her soul across galaxies, silently infiltrating the souls of newborn beings. Kings, queens, emperors—entire bloodlines—could unknowingly nurture her presence.

Rulers would raise their children with limitless resources, devotion, and protection, never realizing that they were feeding an Archangel hidden deep within their heirs. From the inside, Naomi could cripple civilizations, rot empires, and collapse kingdoms without ever revealing herself.

It was a power perfectly suited for subjugation through subtlety.

But subtlety meant fragility.

In a direct confrontation, Naomi was dangerously vulnerable. And now, after most of her soul fragments had been burned away by the wrathful flames of the True Depravita of Wrath, she could not even leave her own castle. Her soul was fractured, unstable, incapable of sustained projection. If she tried to flee, it would crumble entirely.

Essentially, she was trapped.

Trapped in the same chamber as a being who had slaughtered legions of Angels, butchered dozens of Gods, and carved his way through Heaven itself.

"Stop it!" Naomi screamed.

Vlad looked like a corpse refusing to fall. Wounds covered every inch of his body—burns, punctures, severed flesh, shattered bone barely held together by sheer will. Dlood dripped endlessly from his frame, pooling on the radiant floor. Yet despite his condition, the Archangel could not stop trembling.

The True Depravita of Wrath stepped forward.

Each footfall left bloodstained cracks in the divine ground. His sword burned with violent flames, the heat warping the air around it. His presence alone crushed Naomi’s chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Get out... get out..." she whimpered, her voice breaking.

Naomi crawled backward, scrambling across the floor until her back struck the far wall of the chamber. Her heart hammered so violently it felt ready to burst. The closer Vlad came, the more overwhelming the pressure became—like standing before an executioner who had already passed judgment.

"GET OUT!" she screamed with all her strength.

Vlad raised his sword.

At that very moment, the world exploded inward.

Gods dove into the castle from every direction.

Two divine spears pierced straight through Vlad’s ribs, their tips bursting from his back. A spiked chain wrapped around his raised arm, digging into bone and muscle, dragging it downward. A halberd slammed through his waist, tearing through flesh and pinning him in place.

The combined attack attempted to immobilize the True Depravita of Wrath.

Yet even then, his eyes burned with undiminished cold fury.

He did not look away from Naomi.

He moved forward anyway.

Chains strained. Spears bent. Divine weapons screamed under the impossible pressure of his advance. It seemed as though nothing in the universe could stop him from exacting his vengeance.

Naomi felt despair close around her throat.

Then—

A new presence descended from above.

Majestic plasma wings unfurled across the chamber, radiating absolute authority. A sword plunged downward from the sky, piercing straight through the top of Vlad’s skull.

The strike carried the weight of reality itself.

For a single, breathless instant, everything froze. Space stilled. Time halted. Even the raging laws of Heaven fell silent, as though acknowledging the supremacy of the one who had struck.

The light in Vlad’s eyes dimmed.

His head slumped forward.

"It is over," spoke the Archangel with the black sword.

His voice was calm, cold, and absolute—each word carrying the authority of law itself. There was no doubt, no hesitation. His declaration alone brought a wave of relief crashing over Naomi and the surrounding Gods.

Then—

"Hahahahaha!"

The laughter shattered that relief instantly.

Blood poured from Vlad’s mouth as his head slowly lifted. His eyes blazed to life once more, glowing brighter than before.

"You stupid pigeons," Vlad said, his voice hoarse yet mocking. "I have no vital organs. Destroy my heart. Blow apart my brain. Shatter my spine. I will still live."

The words struck the Gods and Archangels like a death sentence.

"However," Vlad continued, his grin widening despite the blood pouring down his chin, "now that so many of you are gathered together... I can finally act."

Utter horror spread across the battlefield.

The swordsman Archangel turned instantly, attempting to retreat—but it was already too late.

The Eye of Pride on Vlad’s forehead ignited.

In the next instant, the True Depravita of Pride emerged.

His entire body glowed with blinding radiance as he gazed at the Archangels with a wide, almost joyful smile. He raised his head slightly and uttered a single word.

"Boom."

The Depravita Sun within him detonated.

A horrifying burst of golden psychic fire erupted outward, consuming everything inside the Archangel’s castle in an instant. Walls, floors, divine formations, Gods, Angels—everything vanished in a sea of incandescent destruction.

The explosion did not stop there.

It expanded violently, devouring nearby Divine Kingdoms, shattered God corpses, celestial cities, and the millions of Angels flooding the Sixth Level of Heaven. The landscape was erased, reduced to nothing but searing golden annihilation.

Minutes later, a single figure emerged from the inferno.

It was the swordsman Archangel.

His sword was gone.

Half his body was calcified, burned beyond recognition. Divine flesh had turned brittle, cracked, and charred. The golden flames clung to him like living entities, surging forward in waves, attempting to drag him back into the inferno and finish what they had begun.

The Archangel looked back at the devastation in horror.

He was grievously wounded. If he remained, those flames would consume him entirely.

With no other choice, he flashed into the distance, tearing through the barrier and crossing into the Seventh Level of Heaven—vanishing from sight.

Seeing that their prey had escaped, the golden flames expanded further, ravaging the land without restraint. There was no reason to hold back. If the devouring power damaged Heaven’s laws themselves, it was merely a bonus.

Angels fled in panic, running as fast and as far as they could—but many were not fast enough. They were swallowed whole, bodies and souls dissolving into the golden psychic fire.

Normally, the Laws of Heaven would have intervened.

But within those flames, they sensed the essence of an Archangel’s soul—more precisely, the authority of Metatron himself. The laws hesitated, unable to determine whether the flames were an enemy or an extension of their own supreme enforcers.

That hesitation was fatal.

The few Gods still alive could do nothing to stop the destruction. Those from higher levels were too far away, too slow to intervene.

All they could do was watch as the inferno consumed more and more of the Sixth Level.

Until—

A massive arc of crimson energy fell from the sky.

It struck the ocean of golden fire with such overwhelming force that it nearly split it in half. The flames recoiled violently, collapsing inward until a humanoid figure manifested.

Soon, the figure of the True Depravita of Pride manifested once more.

The moment his form stabilized, the power emanating from him surged outward like a silent supernova. Space itself bent subtly around his presence, unable to fully accommodate what he had become. His A.I. Chip Mind, God Soul, and Archangel Body had fused into a single, unified existence—perfectly synchronized, flawlessly aligned.

Almost perfect.

Overlord lowered his gaze to his shoulder. There, etched faintly into his otherwise immaculate form, remained a scar—an imperfection that refused to fade even after reforging his body at the most fundamental level.

"The damage was so intensive that it remained even after reconstruction," he murmured calmly. "Impressive." 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

His voice was composed, devoid of anger, as though he were merely acknowledging an interesting data point. Slowly, he lifted his head and looked toward the sky.

There stood a being that seemed like a fusion of death and divinity.

A towering reaper-warrior hovered above the shattered sky, wrapped in flowing white and steel-blue robes that dissolved into mist at their edges.

His pale armor was etched with ancient, glowing sigils, veins of crimson energy. A massive scythe arced above him—its blade forged from half celestial metal, half spectral vapor—dripping red essence that never quite touched the ground.

White hair whipped violently around a face that seemed half-hidden, either faceless or obscured by cold, merciless eyes. Behind him, skeletal and draconic shapes coiled and twisted, forming a halo of bone, spirit, and restrained violence. And his wings—

His wings were vast and radiant, rivaling those of Metatron at his peak.

The Archangel looked down upon the True Depravita of Pride with thinly veiled arrogance, his gaze cold and superior.