The battle had ended. They had won.
Those words echoed like a holy chant in the minds of every soldier as they looked around at the sea of Voroe corpses scattered across the bloodstained battlefield. Exhaustion warred with disbelief, and then joy began to crack through their tired faces. Smiles, raw and victorious, bloomed as countless heads tilted skyward—every gaze locking on a single figure above.
Floating high in the sky like a divine sentinel was the Depravita of Wrath.
Vlad stood unmoving, suspended like a celestial monument. The once fully expanded Skin of Wrath no longer coated his body in full battle form. Now, it had receded into a more elegant shape—forming wings of molted shadow-black energy streaked with crimson lightning, arching from his back like a seraph forged in battle and flame.
His golden eyes still blazed with lingering fury, echoing the relentless laser beams he had unleashed over the final five minutes of the war.
