Beyond the Apocalypse-Chapter 1079: Back to the Primordial God’s Tomb

Silence reigned across the Third Layer.

The city that had once stood as its beating heart was now broken beyond recognition. Every building lay in ruins, reduced to shattered stone and twisted metal. Streets were cracked open, stained dark with blood, and the air itself carried the lingering weight of destruction. The battlefield no longer roared with conflict—only the aftermath remained.

The Sovereigns stood amid the devastation, struggling to regulate their breathing. More than one of them bore wounds that had reached deep into their internal organs, injuries that would normally demand immediate and extensive treatment. Their bodies trembled from exhaustion, their energy reserves stretched thin after the relentless clash. And yet, despite the cost, wide smiles rested on their faces.

They had won.

Every single Devil Lord of the Third Layer had been either killed or captured. The enemy’s command structure had been erased, their strongest forces crushed beyond recovery. The Sovereigns had proven their overwhelming power and secured a decisive victory.

Overlord hovered in the sky, silently surveying the ruined city below. His left arm was gone, torn away during the final exchanges, and his energy was so depleted that regeneration was impossible for now. Yet none of that mattered. In his remaining hand, he gripped three severed, cursed heads—the final proof of his triumph.

Even after enduring the merciless barrage of Golden Rain, Mephisto and Olaftir had survived long enough to force Overlord into close combat. The melee had been brutal, draining him to his very limits. Still, through sheer will and absolute dominance, he had slain the Masters of Sector One and Sector Two with his own hands.

Vlad watched the scene unfold with a faint but genuine smile.

He knew just how close this battle had come to disaster. Had he failed to reach the heart of the Third Layer, had he been stopped midway, the outcome would have been far worse. He would have been forced to release the Sovereigns within a city still filled with countless traps and formations—structures designed to consume even beings of their level.

That scenario would have compelled him to reveal his true power prematurely, draining him and exposing their greatest trump cards to the Paragons of Hell.

Such a risk had been unacceptable.

In silence, the True Depravita of Wrath turned toward the White Death. The man bathed in white flames met his gaze and offered a solemn nod. It was confirmation enough—no Paragon would appear. Not while the White Death stood at full power.

With the battlefield secured, Vlad moved swiftly. He descended to the ruined ground and began engraving a massive runic formation into the earth itself. The process took less than half an hour, each symbol etched with precise intent and immense energy. When the final line was completed, the sky trembled as a colossal portal opened above the city.

Through it marched the Legends and Sages of the Six Sun Alliance’s main army.

There had been no reason for them to arrive earlier. The Devil Lords had sacrificed every Devil below Lord Tier, using their lives as fuel for the countless traps embedded throughout the city. Sending an army into such a death zone would have been meaningless slaughter.

As the army entered the Third Layer, commands echoed directly into their minds. There was no confusion, no hesitation. The task was clear.

Reconstruct the city.

Immediately, the army dispersed, beginning the monumental effort of rebuilding what had been destroyed. Meanwhile, the Sovereigns gathered and marched toward the main castle of Sector One. At its heart stood the Infernal Monolith, restored and under a new master.

Without restraint, the Sovereigns began absorbing the monolith’s Origin Power.

The energy was staggering—so vast that even if they cultivated without rest, day and night, it would take decades to fully absorb it all. As the Origin Power flooded their bodies, wounds closed, bones strengthened, and flesh was reforged. Their energy surged, cultivation advancing rapidly under the constant pressure and strain that forced their potential to bloom.

Weeks passed.

By the end of it, the aura of every Sovereign had risen once more, denser and more powerful than during their last battle. Their presence alone distorted the air around them, their potential burning brighter than ever.

Yet there was no celebration.

No cheers, no laughter.

Only solemn expressions, sharpened focus, and unwavering determination.

"It is time," Vlad said quietly.

He looked toward Overlord, who met his gaze and nodded. The True Depravita of Pride then released his will, his voice echoing directly into the minds of every Legend and Sage across the Third Layer.

"Continue your work as instructed. The density of Origin Power will gradually be released into the city to aid cultivation. The Sovereigns will enter secluded cultivation in preparation for the march into the Fourth Layer."

Shock flickered across many faces as the message spread.

Since their descent into Hell, the Alliance had moved from one battle to the next without pause. The idea of rest—of time without immediate war—felt almost unreal. Yet the surprise quickly gave way to relief. The chance to cultivate without the constant threat of another battle looming just weeks away was exactly what many of them needed.

It also made sense.

The deeper one ventured into Hell, the more dangerous it became. Strength was not optional—it was survival.

Countless eyes observed the Third Layer from the shadows. Some belonged to Devils, others to ancient entities scattered beyond Hell. Many of them were already relaying information, measuring the Sovereigns’ movements, waiting for weakness.

Seeing that the forces accepted the explanation without suspicion, the Sovereigns finally allowed themselves to relax—if only slightly.

The truth, however, was different.

There would be no rest.

The announcement of secluded cultivation was a lie—a necessary one. In reality, the Sovereigns were preparing to march into the Tomb of the Primordial God.

Simply vanishing from Hell would have been far too dangerous. Their grip over the First and Second Layers was still fragile, and the Third Layer remained under reconstruction. If the Devil Lords of the lower layers sensed an opening, they might attempt to reclaim territory.

But if they believed the Sovereigns were merely cultivating in seclusion, hesitation would take hold.

Devils were paranoid by nature. They always assumed the worst-case scenario. Without absolute proof of the Sovereigns’ absence, they would not dare to act.

Of course, there was always the possibility that some unpredictable singularity might appear and shatter the plan entirely. No strategy was ever flawless.

And for now, the path forward was clear.

Vlad turned toward Overlord. In the next instant, the True Depravita of Pride fused with his soul, and a new eye manifested on Vlad’s forehead. Power surged violently through his body, skyrocketing in a single breath until his aura reached the level of a Paragon. The pressure alone caused the surrounding space to tremble.

The True Depravita of Wrath took a deep breath as his aura continued to rise, climbing higher and higher before finally stabilizing. He then turned toward the others. Immediately, each Sovereign extended a hand and released a single drop of blood. Within those drops flowed strands of their soul aura, dense and refined.

Vlad reached out, channeling Origin Power along with his mastery over the Law of Life into each drop. The energy pulsed, twisted, and soon began to take shape. One by one, clones emerged from the blood—perfect replicas of their creators. They carried the same aura, the same presence as the real Sovereigns.

These clones could move, speak, and act independently. To any observer, nothing would appear out of place. Of course, they were not indestructible. If attacked directly, they would collapse. But that was never the purpose. The goal was deception—to stop the enemy from making a move.

With the illusion secured, Vlad activated the Quantum Eye. Space folded inward as he swallowed all the Sovereigns into its depths before teleporting away. In the next moment, they appeared within the ancient castle that loomed over Sector Four.

The portal to the Primordial God’s Tomb was shattered. Its remains were little more than scars etched into space itself, and it would not reopen for a very long time. That was why Nebolxed and the other Lords had not been able to get in.

But Vlad did not need to wait.

He took a slow breath as the Quantum Eye glowed. Reaching out, he touched the empty space where the portal had once existed. At first, nothing happened. Then a sharp light flashed through the Quantum Eye as it detected lingering fluctuations—faint scars left behind by the ancient gateway.

Though the True Depravita of Wrath could have torn the passage open in a single violent act, he restrained himself. Discovery was not an option.

Carefully channeling his control and understanding of the Law of Space, Vlad opened a slit no wider than a few centimeters. For most beings, such an opening would have been useless. For a True Depravita, it was more than enough. He transformed into a streak of lightning and shot forward just as the opening sealed itself, leaving no trace behind.

Vlad emerged into a sea of chaotic spatial energy—the turbulent realm between dimensions. There was no up or down, no direction or stability.

Yet guided by his mastery of space, Vlad advanced without hesitation. Moments later, he reached the far edge of the passage and pierced through in a single burst.

The next second, he stood within the Primordial God’s Tomb.