Chapter 922: Blood honey
Five days slipped by in the blink of an eye. When they ended their recovery, Vlad, the True Depravitas, Overlord, and the Nightmare-Eye Devils rose together from the scorched ground. Their eyes were sharp, their auras steady.
Hazon and Barkial followed soon after, their massive bodies still riddled with scars and wounds that refused to fully close. Even so, their regeneration and treasures allowed them to stabilize their conditions. Both could summon nearly seventy percent of their full power—not enough for complete dominance, but it should be enough to allow them to stand their ground against the monster that would surely appear in the tomb.
As for the surviving Legendary Devils, no one truly cared. They limped, bled, and staggered, but none dared fall behind. Vlad only cared that they could move forward and attack. If they failed to do so, he would just devour them.
Without wasting words, Vlad moved forward. The two Devil Lords flanked him, while the other True Depravitas, Overlord, and the Nightmare-Eye Devils followed in a disciplined cluster behind. The scattered Legendary Devils trailed last, their fear binding them into a loose herd.
They move through the maws-like gate, and on the other side lies a fortress so vast that even Hazon and Barkial hesitated in awe.
The walls, floor, and ceiling were not carved from stone but forged from a metal so ancient and powerful that it seemed alive. Black and crimson veins pulsed faintly within it, glowing as though magma coursed beneath its surface. The corridors stretched endlessly, their scale titanic.
"This metal..." Vlad muttered in disbelief. "It could forge armors and weapons worthy of Legends. Yet here, it is nothing but decoration—walls and ceilings for a tomb."
The sheer wealth of the place was unfathomable. Still, the True Depravita pushed aside such thoughts. Wealth was meaningless if they did not leave this place alive.
The corridor led them forward for hours until, eventually, it opened into a crossroads. Three paths split before them, each a massive tunnel cloaked in darkness. There was no inscription, no marker, no clue as to which road led deeper into the citadel.
The Devils hesitated. For them, such a choice was like stepping blind into a trap. But Vlad required no guesswork.
Closing his eyes, he activated the full might of his A.I. Chip. Streams of data surged into his mind, tracing the lingering Archangel’s energies through the air.
His eyes snapped open, turning toward the left path. "This way," he said simply.
None questioned him. He was the strongest, so they had to obey. As simple as that.
For fifteen hours, they marched, the oppressive silence broken only by the echo of their footsteps. At last, the corridor opened into a chamber so large it seemed to swallow the horizon.
And it was not empty.
Bones carpeted the floor like snow. Rivers of blood flowed sluggishly across the stone, gathering into crimson pools that reflected a pale, eerie light. The walls and ceiling were riddled with structures that at first resembled beehives—massive nests fused from congealed blood, pulsing faintly as though alive. Most of them had been reduced to ash and ruin, their destruction marked by deep golden burns.
"The Archangel’s work," Vlad murmured, narrowing his eyes. "He tore through this place."
But why? The Archangel was arrogant beyond measure, but arrogance did not mean wastefulness. By what Vlad had seen, that man did not bother with mindless destruction.
The answer came a moment later.
From the few surviving hives, movement stirred.
"ZUUUMMM—"
The air filled with a thunderous buzz as the hives ruptured and vast creatures crawled free. They were grotesque, humanoid bees twisted into monstrous parodies of life. Their bodies were sheathed in jagged bone armor, their wings slick with blood, their maws dripping with crimson ichor. The hunger in their compound eyes burned like madness.
As soon as they locked onto the Devils, they lunged, their speed horrifying, some of them reaching the threshold of Lord-tier beings.
"Prepare yourselves!" Vlad’s roar split the air, his aura exploding outward.
The swarm descended.
Hazon and Barkial met the charge head-on, their massive bodies colliding with the foremost creatures. Their claws and machete tore through bone-carapaces, but the bees countered with razor stingers and wings sharp enough to slice steel.
The Depravitas, Overlord, and the Nightmare-Eye Devils unleashed their full might, covering the flanks. The surviving Legendary Devils had no choice but to fight with everything they had.
The battle was chaos incarnate. The chamber shook as titanic blows sent shockwaves through the air. Red ichor sprayed in torrents as sword, claw, and spell ripped into carapace and flesh. Dozens of bees fell, their corpses torn apart, yet for every one destroyed, two more lunged forward with feral hunger.
Vlad moved like lightning among them. His body blurred in and out of space, teleporting between strikes. His sword was sheathed in the combined might of the Laws of Space and Death, carving effortlessly through the abominations. Wherever he struck, bees crumbled into dust, their essence drained into his flames.
For an hour the slaughter raged. One by one, the creatures fell until at last the chamber fell silent, broken only by the ragged breaths of the Devils. The ground was slick with blood and ichor, and even the strongest among them felt exhaustion clawing at their bones.
Now that the battle was finally over, Vlad was able to truly inspect the chamber and he learn something.
From the shattered hives, a strange red substance leaked onto the floor. It was thick, glimmering faintly, almost honey-like. He crouched, scooping a handful, and raised it to his lips.
The moment it touched his tongue, his body trembled. A surge of vitality ripped through him, flooding his flesh and blood with power. It was intoxicating, alive.
The other Devils saw it immediately. Hazon’s eyes widened, Barkial’s mouth twisted with greed, and the Legendary Devils trembled with desire. The thought was clear in their minds: if they consumed it, their wounds would vanish, their strength would return.
But before any could act, Vlad’s Eye of Gluttony snapped open.
A devouring force erupted, sweeping across the chamber like a storm. Every drop of the blood-honey shuddered, then streamed into him in rivers of crimson light. Within seconds, he had stored it all.
Rage flared in the Devils. Their faces twisted with fury, but none dared speak. Even Hazon and Barkial held their tongues, their pride burning but their caution stronger.
Vlad did not care. He knew their hatred was inevitable. Sharing the honey would not change it. Devils respected only strength, and if he showed weakness, they would stab him the moment his back turned. Better to dominate them outright, to make them fear and resent him, than to feign camaraderie.
Besides, he would need every shred of power before the day came when he faced the Archangel again.