Chapter 921: Attack from the back

Vlad drew in a long, steady breath, his fists clenching as he forced himself to think with clarity. Archangels were beings of power beyond measure, embodiments of Heaven’s most absolute authority. Yet, paradoxically, they were aloof, detached. For all their might, they rarely interfered with the workings of the countless planes. Legendary Angels might send their armies upon rising worlds to harvest Origin Power. But aside from those acts of theft, they kept to themselves. They were despised, yes, hated by countless civilizations alike, but they were not a constant threat to existence itself.

The Nightmare Universe’s kin, however, was another matter entirely.

Those entities did not linger at the edges of creation. By what Vlad had learned, they pushed forward, always seeking to spread their corruption into new dimensions. They consumed not merely worlds but the very principles upon which those worlds stood. Their ultimate goal was unknown, but what little could be understood hinted at nothing less than the annihilation of every other race, every other law, every other future.

Where the Archangels were bloodshed, the kin of the Nightmare Universe were apocalypse.

Vlad did not particularly care about the corpse of a Primordial God. That obsession belonged to the Devils. He and Jormungandr had already gathered vast stores of knowledge, and with the assistance of Overlord and their A.I. Chips, there was a genuine chance of locating the Hell–Zanis Homeworld. That was their true prize.

Yet this new development changed everything. If the Nightmare Universe’s kin had agents here, then each step they advanced was one step closer to a calamity that could sweep across the cosmos.

A sigh escaped his lips, heavy and long, carrying with it the weight of what he knew must be done. Then his eyes hardened like tempered steel. Raising his hand, the crippled and half-dead Devils—those who had survived the massacre only to be left broken—were dragged toward him as though snared by an invisible tide.

Before anyone could question him, before a single protest could be voiced, the Eye of Gluttony upon his forehead flared open.

Screams erupted immediately.

The Devils shrieked as their flesh convulsed, their very life essence ripped from their bodies. Their souls howled as they were consumed, devoured utterly by the power of the Red Sun of Wrath. Their knowledge, their memories, every fragment of who they had been, was seized and absorbed. Thanks to Jormungandr’s ability, not a single iota of information was lost. It all flowed into Vlad.

It was over in a heartbeat.

Hazon and Barkial had no time to stop him. They had intended to consume those Devils themselves, to feed upon their essence and hasten their recovery. But Vlad had moved too quickly. The opportunity was gone. And now, standing before them with his aura burning like a crimson star, the True Depravita of Wrath was at his peak while they remained battered and bleeding.

Just a few minutes ago, they had conspired to eat him and devour his soul to heal their wounds, and now they were forced to lower their heads.

Vlad gave them one sharp, cutting glance, then turned to the True Depravitas, Overlord, and the Nightmare-Eye Devils. His allies were wounded, but alive, and still capable of fighting. With a flick of his hand, he raised a spatial field that severed sound and shut out psychic interference, creating a sphere where they could speak in secret.

"I believe we must move forward," Vlad said, his voice calm yet edged with urgency. "That figure in the butler’s attire—he is no Devil, no Angel. His aura reeks of the Nightmare Universe’s kin. We cannot allow him to succeed."

The others nodded. They had felt it too, that same alien resonance.

Overlord was the first to voice the question that lingered in all their minds. "Prima Master... if you fused with the four True Depravitas, could you stand against the Archangel?"

The air grew heavy with the weight of the thought. None had forgotten the spectacle of the Archangel’s power. His arrival had lasted mere seconds, yet those seconds had been enough to annihilate dozens of Devils, cripple the Lords, and leave Vlad himself impaled. They had survived only because the Archangel had dismissed them as beneath his notice. Should he choose to strike in earnest, it would be extermination.

Vlad’s mind raced with calculations, his A.I. Chip simulating a thousand outcomes in less than an instant. In the end, he shook his head.he surviving Devils followed his example, closing their eyes, drawing upon what little treasures they had left to restore their broken bodies.

More than one hundred had entered this dimension. Now fewer than thirty remained. And still, they had not yet glimpsed the tomb itself.

Retreat was impossible. Death was likely. All that remained was to march forward together—and pray that in the end, they would not be the ones devoured.