CHAPTER 866: I AM BACK!

Overlord softly nodded as he noticed the True Depravitas remained silent. No matter how much they might oppose it in their hearts, the reality was undeniable: the Xaos Faith had become a crucial pillar of the Xaos Kingdom’s power. Without it, the hundreds of thousands of Scout Drones, the Xaos Tanks, the Sky Fighters, and even the higher-dimensional nuclear weapons would have been impossible to manufacture—at least, not with the speed and scale that this war had demanded.

After a moment, and seeing every eye fixed on him, Overlord raised his hand.

"Tend to the wounded. Retrieve our dead. Burn the remains of all the abominations. Let those poor souls finally find rest in the afterlife."

The soldiers of Xaos and even the warriors of the Rebellion bowed their heads in solemn acknowledgment. The war might be over, but much remained to be done. Many had been wounded—the last desperate assault of the mutated sky had been brutally devastating—and the abominations’ remnants still needed to be purged. After all, those twisted monstrosities had once been ordinary people, warped into unrecognizable horrors through suffering and corruption beyond comprehension. To leave their remains to rot would be a final indignity. To burn them was, at least, to grant release.

The Xaos forces and the Rebellion soldiers moved at once. Guided by the efficient coordination of the A.I. Chip Clone, they worked tirelessly. Within less than an hour, the wounded had been stabilized. Thanks to the endurance of Guardians and Sages, as long as breath remained in their lungs and their conditions were not critical, they would eventually recover—especially when fortified with the immense quantities of healing elixirs now coursing through their veins.

Meanwhile, the True Depravitas ascended into the sky, forming a protective circle around the flaming whirlwind that encased the Red Sun of Wrath. There lay Vlad, unconscious, his body and soul-dimension undergoing the grueling process of reconstruction. Though it was true that a True Depravita could not truly die so long as the core of their essence remained intact, existence without a vessel was impossible.

Vlad had lost his vessel to the nightmare universe. Now, he was forced to endure the arduous and vulnerable process of reforging it. Until this rebirth was complete, he would remain defenseless.

But he was not without guardians.

Freya, Jormungandr, Fafnir, and Ouroboros stood vigil beside him, their resolve unwavering. For them, the radiation of the Red Sun of Wrath was not only a shield but a blessing. Its torrents of psychic energy and rivers of negative emotion nourished their power, fueling their growth. Each of them succeeded in awakening their Depravita Moons, elevating them to heights they had never before reached. Still, they remained far from the realm of their Depravita Suns, and so they continued to bask in Vlad’s radiance, training and refining themselves under its endless fire.

Overlord inclined his head toward them. With the True Depravitas standing guard, he felt secure in his Prime Master’s safety. With careful precision and unwavering focus, he continued to guide the Xaos forces and the Rebellion. Together, they cleansed the battlefield of all remnants of corruption.

And as he worked, Overlord’s thoughts lingered on the fragments of the nightmare universe scattered around them.

That entity had been a foe unlike any other—a true nightmare, one that had driven them beyond their limits and forced them to rely not only on their strength but also on fortune. Yet what troubled the Divine Avatar most was not its power, but its nature. It was not truly a single entity at all. Rather, it had been a vast hive-mind, a consciousness born from the endless ocean of darkness and suffering. A being without singularity. A shadow made of countless voices.

The implications gnawed at him even as he healed and commanded.

After two days of tireless work, the battlefield was cleansed. The fallen soldiers had been laid into coffins, prepared for burial with honor, and the abominations had been annihilated, their remains obliterated in cleansing fire.

Yet even though the war was over, the work had only just begun.

Now came the era of reconstruction and order.

The civilians of Exilion—those who had been incapacitated during the continents’ conquest—were gradually awakened. Each was carefully tested to ensure they posed no threat before being allowed to return to their homes. The territories once ruled by the Zanis Family required particular attention, for they were littered with devastation, rivers of blood, and the shattered remains of the abominations the nightmare had forged. The cleansing of these lands would take time, patience, and willpower.

The Exilion World, though freed from war, was alive with ceaseless movement. At its heart, the Red Sun of Wrath still burned, its radiance a silent reminder of the godlike power that had saved them.

But elsewhere—at the very edge of the world, where the exosphere kissed the void—another, more sinister event was unfolding.

Suspended there, encased in a massive amber crystal, was the mutated body of Augustus, scion of the Zanis Family. Transformed by Orfry’s corruption, he had been imprisoned, frozen in his grotesque chrysalis. But now, faint cracks began to spread across the crystalline surface.

With a thunderous shatter, the crystal broke apart, and Augustus was released from his prison.

At once, his body twisted further. His form mutated wildly, grotesque shadows of faces sprouting across his flesh, each one howling in agony and rage. His eyes, once clouded with confusion, burned with sudden, horrifying clarity. Wisdom and hatred—pure, absolute hatred—filled them. It was the same hatred that had burned in the nightmare universe itself.

"I am back!"

The words tore from every face that screamed across his body, their chorus filled with fury and malice.

His fists clenched as the phantom of fear flickered in his gaze. He had come so close—so perilously close—to true death. His life-saving contingency had not been bulletproof; the transfer of his soul essence might easily have failed, consigning him to oblivion.

But it had not. He lived.

"Hmph... none of that matters now," The entity muttered, shaking its grotesque head. Determination, sharp as a blade, burned in its eyes.

"Enjoy your victory—for now. I will return. And I will have my revenge."

But even as those words left its mouths, its body trembled. Its countless faces twisted in sudden dread as a voice, cold and powerful, whispered from behind him.

"That will not happen."