Chapter 737: Superior Legend
The nine Legends instinctively tensed, their bodies alert and guarded, as they felt the overwhelming spatial control radiating from the black-haired youth before them. But that was only the beginning.
Vlad’s body was now sheathed in a second skin of energy—an ethereal armor that made him appear fused with the very fabric of space itself. Every movement distorted reality, his presence bending dimensions like ripples in a pond.
If that weren’t enough, a surging demonic aura coursed through his flesh and blood, amplifying his strength to terrifying levels. His form radiated a dangerous harmony of destruction and precision.
Vlad’s cold gaze swept over the group of Legends. Then, in an instant, he vanished.
He reappeared directly in the path of the wounded Angel, striking her again without pause. There was no mercy in his blows—only cold, calculated wrath. Again and again he struck, sending the once-proud warrior hurtling through the air like a broken doll, each impact spraying more blood across the sky.
The other nine Legends stood in stunned silence. The brutality, the power, the speed—it was too much.
Though none were particularly close to the Angel, the reality was undeniable: they had arrived together, and now one of their own was being publicly dismantled. They shared uncertain glances. Acting rashly might mean sharing her fate.
Before they could make a move, they felt the gazes of the other four figures—Jormungandr, Fafnir, Ouroboros, and Overlord—locking onto their backs with unyielding pressure. Though the invaders had the numbers, the aura of the man radiating divine energy and the terrifying presence of the small yellow cat struck a primordial fear into their hearts.
They didn’t dare move.
Vlad continued to pummel the Angel, blow after blow until she could no longer lift a hand to defend herself. Only when her body went limp—so injured she could barely breathe—did he stop. He reached down, seized her by the head, and teleported back in front of the group.
Now, standing before them, with the Angel’s bloodied body hanging helplessly from his grasp, Vlad was like a harbinger of death. His eyes were devoid of warmth, his presence imposing and unrelenting. The very air darkened around him, his silence heavier than thunder.