CHAPTER 945: FIGHTING THE MASTER’S HAND

The fingers of the Master’s hand twitched and convulsed, trembling with malignant vitality. Residual power radiated from every inch of its colossal frame, as though the limb itself refused to acknowledge its dismemberment. A will still lingered inside, stubborn, hateful, unwilling to fade.

Then the back of the palm cracked open like stone splitting under divine lightning. From the fissure emerged a single, massive eye—black sclera, molten crimson iris, a gaze that radiated a hunger beyond stars. It swiveled slowly, almost curiously, as though attempting to comprehend its condition. But the moment it landed on Vlad, all semblance of neutrality vanished. The eye blazed with pure hatred, and killing intent erupted in a wave so suffocating that even mountains far in the distance shuddered under its aura.

The nightmare was not over.

Without hesitation, the monstrous hand surged forward, rising high into the sky like a colossal axe. The air itself shrieked as it cleaved upward, carrying catastrophic force that threatened to sunder the battlefield.

Vlad reacted instantly, pushing every muscle, every drop of blood, every shred of soul to its absolute limit. He raised his sword to meet the strike, pouring into it every iota of strength. The clash was thunderous. His body convulsed as the sheer momentum tore through his frame. Bones cracked in both arms, his chest shuddered, and blood erupted from his lips as he was hurled skyward like a broken comet, carving through clouds.

But the Master’s hand granted no reprieve. With speed horrifying for something of its size, it ascended after him, fingers curled into weapons, the eye gleaming with sadistic hunger.

Shock coursed through Vlad’s veins as he witnessed its might. Even severed from its body, the hand of the Master fought with a power that could crush ordinary Lords with casual ease. How strong, then, was the full alien god imprisoned beyond the rift? The thought alone was enough to chill the soul.

But awe and despair were luxuries he could not afford.

"—Fuck it!" Vlad spat, his teeth bared in a manic grin. There was no point pondering how absurd his life had become, fighting a severed hand larger than a continent. The only thing that mattered was fighting back with everything he had.

A colossal pillar of psychic energy erupted from his body, shaking the skies. The Sins of Wrath, Gluttony, Greed, Envy, and Lust ignited within him, their might currents coursing through his veins. He burned his life force and soul without hesitation, forcing his body beyond its limits.

The Eye of Gluttony flared brightest of all, devouring everything around them—fire, mana, psychic ripples, even the residual shockwaves of the ongoing battle. For thousands of kilometers, energy was stripped bare from the air itself and funneled into Vlad’s blade.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!"

The explosion shook the very sky as Vlad’s sword clashed with the rising hand. Space fractured, jagged cracks spreading outward as though the fabric of creation were struggling to contain them.

Vlad’s body quivered under the impact, blood dripping freely from his lips, but he did not yield. He withstood the pressure long enough to force the severed hand back, scoring a deep cut along its colossal fingers.

Panting heavily, Vlad forced his battered body upright in midair. His teeth clenched, his muscles screamed, but he refused to fall. The Eye of Greed flickered on his forehead, and he triggered Ouroborous’ Seal of Sin.

"Hoarder’s Veins!"

With that roar, all the spilled blood across the battlefield responded. Rivers of crimson—drawn from slain warriors, shattered monstrosities, even fragments of Lords—rose into the sky, siphoned toward him like tributaries feeding an endless ocean. The blood burned as it entered him, fusing with his veins until his body bulged with newfound strength. Golden vessels spread beneath his skin, glowing with the essence of avarice itself.

Vlad’s frame grew larger, his muscles denser, his aura so oppressive it warped the air around him. He had become a furnace of violence and greed incarnate.

"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

With a guttural roar, he lunged forward once more, colliding with the Master’s hand. The two forces met in another storm of destruction, shockwaves blasting across the heavens. Despite its massive size, the hand moved with shocking swiftness, each swipe accompanied by howling winds and ruptured space. Yet Vlad’s sword was no less swift, fueled by the curses of the Sins and the furnace of his wrath.

"BOOOM!"

"BOOOM!"

"BOOOM!"

Every clash birthed devastation. Flames erupted across the sky, jagged tears opened in the earth below, and mountains crumbled into dust. Cuts began to appear across the Master’s fingers, burning with the infection of Vlad’s Death Laws. But every time they clashed, Vlad’s body fractured further. His bones groaned, hairline cracks spiderwebbed through his frame, and his organs trembled from the internal shockwaves. Only his immortal True Depravita physique allowed him to endure at all, but even that had limits.

Yet rather than fear, his eyes burned sharper, brighter.

After their hundredth exchange, something within him shifted. New blood vessels surfaced beneath his skin, glowing not golden but violet.

"Jealous Hide!"

The Eye of Envy ignited, manifesting Fafnir’s Seal of Sin. Power rippled outward, forming a reflective fortress across his body. Every blow endured became fuel for his envy, adapting his flesh to resist it further. Fire seared him once—then dulled forever. Blades cut once—then blunted against his skin. Every strike absorbed became another layer of armor, another reservoir of resistance.

Now Vlad’s body was nearly impervious to the brute, raw kinetic might of the Master’s Hand.

He roared again, his muscles swelling with rage and adaptation. With every cut his blade landed, the Hand shrieked silently, its corrupted blood raining like dark ichor upon the land. Finally—

"ZNNNNNNNNNNNNN!"

The sunder echoed across the battlefield as one of the monstrous fingers was severed, tumbling like a falling mountain into the ground below. The eye embedded in the palm twitched violently in pain, glaring at Vlad with hatred that could annihilate worlds.

But Vlad was relentless. His golden veins bulged grotesquely as he twisted his body, his blade gleaming. With another strike, a second finger was cleaved free, spraying rivers of corrupted ichor.

Fury answered. The severed hand struck back, its massive palm smashing into Vlad’s body. Even with Jealous Hide cushioning the blow, the impact hurled him through the firmament, leaving his body wracked with agony. Of course, without Fafnir’s Seal, the strike would have obliterated him completely.

But he did not falter.

Righting himself in midair, he surged upward, blazing through the void like a vengeful comet. His sword burned, his aura howled, and his wrath consumed him.

The Master’s hand reared back, its colossal eye locking onto him. Both combatants flared with murderous intent, each determined that this next exchange would end the fight.