Chapter Seven
Darkness swallowed Vastro's vision. His existence had ended.... or so he thought.
Then he felt it: a wisp of distorting cosmic energy.
And the next thing he knew, his life was in danger. Wait… wasn't he already erased?
It took him mere moments to regain his senses. Around him, multiple universes were collapsing, breaking apart into pure energy rays.
His soul manifested, and his mind raced, calculating every possibility. Since he was still alive, it meant Drakkon hadn't destroyed his existence orb.
That would have been the surest way to end him.
Vastro wasn't dead. Not yet.
Either Drakkon had done this to taunt him, or there were forces at play he didn't yet understand.
He didn't have time to dwell on it. Every ounce of focus, every shred of power left within him, he poured into maneuvering through the cascading cosmic energy.
With effort that strained the limits of his being, he carved a path to the No Realm.
The No Realm was unlike the eighth realms, a place where all souls go after death. From afar, it appeared divided into three tiers, each unique.
One section was a limitless void, said to be the source of all existence, though no one had ever verified it. Another was an infinite, pure cosmos of white, dotted with blue and gold particles.... a holy realm where untainted souls with hive-like minds could enter.
Most called it heaven. Vastro didn't bother with it. After all, his death toll alone would dwarf the eighth realms combined.
Then came the largest realm: a swirling mix of green with faint red and yellow tints. This was where souls rejected by the heavens went.
Contrary to what most churches preached, this "unholy realm" was nothing like the hellfire and eternal torture they claimed. It was a place that suited him perfectly.
Vastro entered.
Despite his stripped conceptual law mastery, his cultivation was bound to his soul. And his soul? It was in full display.
The aura radiating from him nearly killed those he first encountered. But before chaos could erupt, assistants arrived and guided him to the highest tier of hell.
Here, the scenery was deceptively serene, almost like a fairyland. Even after death, someone of Vastro's caliber still commanded prestige. Hell wasn't the flaming pit of endless torment; the souls here lived relatively normal lives. Eventually, they would be reincarnated when their time was done.
Vastro took what he was given. The world was vast, endless, limitless. He indulged in food, women, power.... everything he desired. He let himself unwind.
But whenever he thought of Drakkon... the look in his eyes as the sword pierced his chest, slicing him in two.... Vastro felt no fear. No hesitation. No sympathy. Only determination. Only purpose.
Here's a polished version that keeps your raw, intense tone, preserves your pacing, keeps the character at the center, and makes it gripping for Webnovel readers:
What Drakkon had done, he had done with purpose. Vastro didn't know the goal, and honestly, he didn't care. He would get his revenge. Forgiveness? That word didn't exist for him. Those who owed him must pay, and Drakkon had just been added to the list.
The rest of the usurpers, every one of them he had collected along the way, would pay too when he returned.
After spending some time in the world Hell had offered him, Vastro decided to take the Hell Trial. According to the wardens, he would have to wait roughly 200 septillion light years for a chance at reincarnation. For a being like him, it wasn't too far.... but he couldn't wait. Revenge had to come on his timeline.
He chose the second option: completing the exclusive Hell Trial. It would grant him a faster reincarnation, but the cost was brutal. Over sixty percent of his power would be stripped away before he even began. His most powerful artifact, along with several other advantages, would be taken.
He would start at an extreme disadvantage.
He was briefed on the danger: failure meant eternal suffering. His soul would remain trapped in the trial grounds, tormented for all eternity. This was the part of Hell most mortals feared. Most would have turned back. Most would have fled.
Not Vastro.
He stepped forward and entered the trial.
The starting line was chaos. Weapons failed him, his realm's power was weakened, and the disadvantage would have broken most beings.
But he pressed forward. Slowly, methodically, he regained his bearings, recalculating his strength and discovering new ways to push it higher.
With the enhancement of all the laws he could tap into.... even some he had never fully mastered.... he became stronger. Coupled with the Blade of Oblivion, his most powerful weapon now at hand, he advanced.
Shockingly, the trial that had been designed to crush him began to feel… easy. One by one, he cut through the Hellbeings, releasing the pent-up frustration he had carried for so long. Every swing of the Blade of Oblivion, every slash, every massacre was a release
And soon, a phrase formed on his lips, a battle cry he repeated before every wave:
"You are next."
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As Vastro left the 50th floor and moved to the 60th, Vastro's wide grin never left his face.
This was pure, unfiltered fun.... a way to vent the rage that had simmered through eons of betrayal.
With the Blade of Oblivion in hand, he stepped into a twisting blood portal and emerged on a battlefield that seemed endless.
Beasts and monsters, thousands upon thousands, waited for him. Their weary eyes betrayed knowledge of the carnage he had wrought below. They were ready.
Vastro didn't flinch. He didn't whisper. Still grinning, he surveyed the horde.
"You are next."
TO BE CONTINUED.....
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