Novel Full Chapter 758: In His Eyes, Everything Is Just Cannon Fodder
Chapter 758: 758: In His Eyes, Everything Is Just Cannon Fodder
“Wrath?”
Belenor chuckled, almost indulgent. “Across the galaxy, you are not the only transcendental. Kill me and you trigger a war of gods, and you will not be the one who has the last laugh.”
Orson’s brow lifted. In the countless Infinity worlds that studded the Milky Way, there had to be a long roll of battle-scarred supremes. Even on the fringe world called Earth, lives like Blazeking, Bellara, and the US Dragon Ancestor had emerged. He had stepped to mid-tier godhood, yes, but above rose the higher seats and the master seats. It was early to speak the word invincible. As for why the Pantheon Sanctum had come to Earth in the name of alliance and stirred up this war, that would take digging.
He nodded slightly, then glanced at Oliver. “Leave him a leash. For now.”
“No.”
Oliver’s demonic longbow sighted on Belenor. The giant did not so much as lift a hand. With his lineage, he was certain Orson would not dare kill him unless he was ready to declare war on the entire Pantheon.
“Old man, are we killing or not killing? Pick a lane,” Ethan asked, baffled.
“Sometimes a living enemy has more value than a corpse,” Orson said, smiling without warmth, his gaze turning toward Earth.
“I said no. The strength clan killed Skyslasher. Blood pays for blood. I will not miss the chance to take this debt myself.”
Oliver’s voice was ice. In spirit form, he gave Orson no face at all. His plan had been simple: pull Bradley off the cross, then settle with the god-son Belenor. In this pseudo-domain state, immune to physical damage, Oliver hard-countered the strength clan’s chosen son.
“Skyslasher is dead?”
Orson’s brow creased. Another old name returned as news of a death. Too much had happened while he was gone. New blood rose from the backs of enemies, and old names who had raged through the Infinity circuits sank into the dark.
“They tore him to pieces,” Oliver snarled. “As if I could forget it.”
Belenor’s eyes glinted. He sneered. “I heard of him. He was good. He butchered many of ours. But our enemies are always torn apart by stronger arms.”
Arrows cracked. Blood sprayed. Four shafts punched through Belenor’s limbs. The giant did not flinch, only stared coldly at Orson and the cluster around him.
“I still remember his face at the end,” Belenor said. “He dragged himself across the ground with half a body, sobbing, drowning in regret. I have never seen a warrior so weak.”
“Shut your damned mouth!”
Even Oliver, all restraint and frost, snapped. Arrows shrieked like rain. In a blink the giant was a pincushion.
“Stop.”
Orson watched Belenor’s bar shrink toward empty and set his jaw. He drove the staff down. Chaos fog billowed and wrapped Oliver. A heartbeat later the air filled with dozens of Belenor phantoms, indistinguishable in sight and feel.
“Saint Roland. Bring the black coffin.”
The Eternal Clan’s lord nodded. Two Destroyers hauled a black sarcophagus off the warship and dropped with it from the sky.
“You have got to be kidding me. He says let him live, then orders up a coffin? Now that’s a guy who plans ahead,” Riven whistled.
The so-called coffin was an Eternal Clan instrument, built for adventurers. Once sealed inside, a target was severed from the Infinity system entirely. No revives, no skills, no divine items. They vanished from the ledger. Worse, the device drip-fed undying poison into the body. Pain blossomed every second. The mind was kept screamingly alert. There was no sleep and no death.
Whether it could touch a being with Divinity, Orson did not know. The Eternal had never caged a true god.
The staff flicked. Hades’ Hand closed in an elemental fist and clamped Belenor like a doll. He struggled, but the gap in power was a chasm. Orson dropped him into the coffin. Living metal surged like tar, becoming needles that drilled into his spine. In a breath he was encased. The coffin folded into a black statue, all breathless stillness.
Even a son of the strength clan broke to the sound of his own voice. “We… will not forgive you! You cannot survive the wrath of the gods!”
His screams hissed through the statue’s vents and hung in the air.
“Not forgive me? You have it backwards. I will not forgive you.”
Orson’s smile was winter. These off-worlders wanted Earth’s adventurers as livestock. Then they had to be ready to be collared in turn.
The scene made Isla and the others’ skins crawl. The juniors traded looks.
“Feels like being dead makes no difference. His health bar and ID both vanished.”
“These soulless cosmic maggots. They mean to overturn the heavens.”
“They are finished. The gods will never allow this.”
Up in the booth, the off-world hosts raved and spat their curses. SirLagsALot was pinned to the floor under a pile of bodies and still laughing like a madman.
“God-blooded my ass. Blink and they’re gone. In front of Orson, everything is cannon fodder!”
“Kill him!”
The lizard-faced caster exploded, summoning a blade live on air. He was not of the strength clan, but like Belenor he came from the Wolf Giant World. With Belenor captured, none in the room was angrier.
“And you call yourselves a high civilization? Slaughtering an envoy in front of a billion viewers?” SirLagsALot sneered. He did not struggle. He stuck his neck toward the lens. “Come on. Do it. Cut me down. For every me you murder, there are a hundred million more.”
“No mercy for the ignorant.”
The lizard’s temper snapped. He was top lieutenant grade and came in with an S-tier battle-tech aimed to split SirLagsALot’s skull.
“I am a Godslayer. I am the immortal Chapter.”
SirLagsALot laughed up at the ceiling, grinning through his teeth. He would make his death a message, a knife in the gut of Earth’s doubters who mouthed the Pantheon’s lines. These were not merciful gods. They were carrion beasts dripping hunger.
“Heartbroken Loli, do you see?”
“Your man is not much… but he has never feared an enemy. He will scar them down to the soul.”
White light flashed, a blade whistled. SirLagsALot shut his eyes and saw only a girl’s smile that had haunted a thousand nights.
“Huh?”
“No pain. Did the world-tree pull me back?”
“Wait. No. I have the Chain of Grievance. No revives.”
He blinked himself out of the haze and looked down at his ankle. A silver ring gleamed there, sticky with blood. His pant leg was soaked. Every Earth “colonial” wore one by force, a leash to keep them from rising.
A voice drifted in, teasing and familiar. “Do you slack off like this whenever I am not around?”
He glanced up. The studio aboard the warship was awash in corpses, off-worlders strewn everywhere. By a crystal mirror stood Bradley, a blade on his shoulder and a grin on his face.