Novel Full Chapter 757: Are You Ready To Face My Wrath?
Chapter 757: 757: Are You Ready To Face My Wrath?
“So you’re the one who should clean up this mess.”
Orson’s snort was cold as steel. He studied Oliver’s face. The kid looked a lot like his mother. To be fair, the brat was maybe a touch better-looking than him. What truly prickled Orson, though, was the scent of an old rival clinging to every move the boy made. The bow work, the stance, the pride that could split the sky—he was Usher’s echo through and through.
My son looks like someone else?
That, more than anything, annoyed him.
Usher had once said that when they met again, Earth would witness a duel for the ages. Both men had known the gulf in power back then. Even now, with Orson ascended, he still longed for that clash.
He just hadn’t expected it to begin like this—through Usher’s own hand, with a glorious turncoat of a prodigy raised in opposition. A peerless archer with iron bones and a gaze full of vengeance for his own father.
“I can’t beat you now,” Oliver said, teeth bared like a wounded wolf cub. “But the moment I become a god, you will die.”
“Good. I’ll be waiting.”
A smile crept into Orson’s eyes. He could feel it—if this kid didn’t die on the way, he would one day make things dangerous again. Just creating a cross-medium pseudo-domain like Phantom God was enough to put him at the apex of god-tier adventurers. Who knew what kind of surprises he might bring later.
Oliver hovered above the crater, body of light and spirit, his gaze as crushing as a god’s, treating the forms beneath him like insects.
Damiron’s health ticked upward as her body knit, and she glared at Oliver with venom. “You, a mere mortal, you cannot—”
“Falling Star Arrow.”
Oliver’s black hair lifted in the wind as he drew to a full moon. A light note twanged from the string.
A streak of awakened-grade holy light split the air, a silver lance turning as it flew like a saint-dragon’s horn. The spell was not massive in scale, but its speed was unreal.
Damiron paled, a divine longsword flaring into her hand. She barely lifted it to parry when a wet sound cracked the air. Blood fountained. The upper half of her body vanished.
Critical hit.
Faces tightened all around. If her lower half hadn’t remained upright for an instant, people might have believed it was an illusion.
Absolute speed. Absolute execution.
This was a disciple trained by Earth’s Archer God.
“Lady Damiron… is dead!”
“The United Infinity War will resume. When Damiron and the others revive, the Mars rabble will be hunted to extinction!”
“How dare they slaughter children of the gods! Demons will gnaw their bones for eternity!”
Even if divine heirs could revive, the spectacle slapped every face in the Pantheon Sanctum. Audiences across their homeworlds howled with rage. This was a spark on a powder keg. War among the eleven worlds would ignite again.
“Too cheap for them. After all the comrades they butchered, I want to kill them a thousand times over,” Chloe growled, fists trembling.
“Chloe, you don’t know this uncle at all,” Riven chuckled darkly. “Who told you they get to revive?”
Raised on Godslayer history, he knew Orson’s reputation well. The old guildmaster was crueler than Sienna ever had been. Try reviving in front of him? Not happening.
Wisps of soul-light rose from Damiron’s severed remains. The three-eyed archer and the others shed the same pale glow. Their souls streaked toward their homeworlds.
“Chaos Arcana: Rule Stripping.”
Orson flicked a hand. Chaos surged. A net of law spread across the sky and snared the drifting spirits with ease.
Reviving in the presence of a being of Divinity was a fantasy. Gods who could seed new game-worlds could also alter rules—at least in part. That was why, even with endless world-trees sustaining near-infinite resurrections, Radiant Shuttle had lost in the end.
“Local rule updated.”
“Resurrection disabled.”
“Resurrection disabled.”
The trapped souls wailed in agony.
“Finish them!”
On Mars, Madman finally shed his calm. He lurched to his feet and barked at James, “Move!”
“To where?”
James looked up, stunned. Everyone else leaned in, breath tight.
“Call back the Silver Dragon Knight. Tell him we’re going home,” Madman said, voice ringing like a bell.
Going home.
At those two words, eyes burned wet. The fire in their chests roared, but the dream still felt distant, untouchable.
In Steel Bastion, Mars’ greatest city, tens of thousands of arcane ion cannons rotated as one. Then the targeting marks dimmed as recognition protocols cleared.
“Godslayer’s apex war-beast!”
“By the stars—how many years has it been since we last saw her? If not for her, we’d have died long ago.”
“If the Dragon Emperor is airborne again, then… that old man really is Orgod!”
A colossal shadow swept the sky. A dragon’s cry shook the heavens. The survivors of Earth looked up and shouted over one another.
“Why the rush? I told you, calamities last forever. It’s only been a dozen years.” A second silhouette, small beside the first, with fae wings, paced alongside.
“It’s him. I swear on my soul, this time I am not wrong.”
“I heard you. Stop repeating yourself,” Berenice said with a roll of her eyes. Then those long lashes narrowed and she giggled. “He’s back. We are going to loot every last Infinite Dimensions world.”
The two dragons ripped through the void toward Earth.
Before the city could recover, a rift yawned open. Silver-gray light spilled through as a one-eyed war god rode a god-tier silver dragon into sight.
“Take to the sky. Debts must be paid,” he growled, murder in his gaze. In his hand gleamed his fallen wife Lilith’s scepter.
“Launch!”
A battle-cry thundered through the breach. Teresa, hair like gold, eyes aflame, lifted her blade. War-blood roared in her veins. Two hundred dragons roared in reply and surged after her command.
Nine great warships screamed as their engines flared. Together, they dragged an ancient war-machine toward orbit.
Around them, banners rose—a storm of colors snapping in the wind atop the Celestial Citadel for the first time in years.
“Are we… actually taking Earth back?”
The fortress citizens stared, shock and awe painted across their faces. They had felt the gods’ power. Doubt gnawed.
Could they truly reclaim their home?
A soft sound cut through the battlefield.
Orson’s expression iced over. His arm shuddered once. The captured souls winked out, snuffed forever on the lunar ruins.
The deaths of divine heirs flashed across every broadcast in every Infinity world.
It was a seismic wound.
“He… killed Lady Damiron?”
In the booth, faces froze. Only SirLagsALot’s laugh cut through, grating and wild. Staff pinned him down and gagged him, but he was long past caring. He jabbed the global broadcast instead.
“He will bring us hope!”
“And for you? Only death!”
“Die screaming, aliens!”
Each word stabbed like a knife at foreign hearts—and twisted.
Belenor stared ice-cold at Orson and spoke with deliberate weight. “Lord, are you truly prepared to face the Pantheon’s dozens of gods at once?”
Orson smiled lightly and asked in return, “Then are you prepared to face my wrath?”