"This is what it ans to be a God—above all living beings, eternal beyond ti!"
"This is divinity!"
Misius stood tall, savoring the terror in his prey's final cries.
"My na is Misius. The Roman War God—Misius!" he roared toward the heavens.
He recalled the glories of a bygone era, where he battled against billions of players, rising above them to be chosen by the gods and ascend to the divine throne. The fire returned to his eyes; his blade no longer wavered.
"Roman War God?"
A cold chuckle broke through his theatrics. Orson's gaze mocked him. "Harsh reality must be unbearable for you. Your empire is nothing but dust. Your pride? Long gone."
Holy Aegis Aura!
Misius hesitated for a mont, but quickly resud charging his execution mode.
Slick!
His elental blade sliced into Aeloria's neck—but failed to fully sever it.
"Reaper's Body Domination!" Orson growled.
Health restored!
Max HP increased by 50%!
Aeloria's HP surged, her health bar climbing rapidly toward 2 billion.
With life-sharing still active, their joint HP compressed into 900 million—and fully replenished.
"I knew this bastard was hiding sothing!"
"Co on! Keep it up! Who's afraid now?"
The battlefield roared with cheers. Godslayer's ranks could hardly contain their joy as Orgod shattered divine might barehanded!
Aeloria's body grew bulkier, her dragon eyes reflecting piles of corpses felled by her ancestors' claws.
"No one shall defeat us. No enemy survives beneath dragon might!"
Reaper's Dragon Breath!
Aeloria unleashed a torrent of death-infused fla, engulfing Misius. Though the blast inflicted no real harm, it temporarily obscured his vision.
Orson pressed the attack, clasping his hands together. "Awakening: Grip of the Underworld!"
"Earthquake!"
Boom. Boom. Boom!
The ground trembled. Mountains shifted. A massive stone coffin ford, sealing Misius within.
Having triggered Angel Divine Form, Misius' law degradation accelerated. His movent speed dropped to 55%—and continued to decline.
"My Roman Empire… destroyed? We ruled the Aegean for a thousand years, created a civilization of unmatched brilliance. How could it be gone?"
Trapped inside the stone casket, Misius' expression grew lost. His sealed mories resurfaced—echoes of his citizens' wailing.
He couldn't accept it. The gods once declared him the Empire's Light. Everything lost would one day be restored.
"Think that'll crush him?" Bradley muttered, unsure.
As if on cue, Misius' cold voice rang out:
"Futile struggle."
Crash!
Holy light burst from the coffin. Misius swung his sword, shattering the hundred-ter prison into rubble with ease.
"Divine Slash! His Body Domination ended! This is our chance!" soone exclaid.
The players froze. Madman's forehead beaded with sweat. "Chance? My ass…"
Misius' status now displayed a new passive: Wisdom Angel's Resolve.
Under the Spatial Ripple law:
Damage reduction: 90%!
Duration: 10 minutes!
The audience was stunned. With Misius' imnse HP and defense, boosted by a godlike 90% damage reduction, he was practically invincible for ten minutes.
Critical hit: -120,000!
Burning: -3,000!
Critical hit: -40,000!
…
Chaos Magic Balls continued slamming into Misius, but the damage output had plumted. The players felt despair creeping in.
Aside from a handful of percent-based true damage attacks, nothing else could aningfully harm him.
Worse still, Misius' superior agility and space-jumping made landing hits nearly impossible. Aeloria, grounded without flight, could barely get close.
"If my empire has fallen, I will rebuild it—because I am a god!"
Misius muttered coldly, flickering through Reaper's Dragon Breath like a ghost.
Prepared now, Aeloria's attacks struggled to connect.
"Is this the end?"
Orson sighed quietly.
He held Heavenly Spirit's Right Eye—Divine Soul Seal—with a 0.9% instant-death chance based on his 900 million HP. Against most God NPCs, he could brawl them to death.
But Misius was a space-warping godlike swordmaster. Basic attacks were blocked; skill casts were too slow and easily dodged.
Banking on the tiny instant-death chance was pure fantasy.
Lethal strike: -30 million!
Crippling strike: -5 million!
Misius flashed past Aeloria again, nearly cleaving Orson in half.
With his absurd damage output, the Wise Angel could've killed Orson multiple tis already during the 10-minute invincibility window.
Orson swung his Supre Arcane Blade in retaliation.
"Too slow. The weak are unworthy of being weapons for the gods," Misius sneered.
Block!
Block!
Miss!
Chaos Magic Balls were repeatedly deflected.
The two clashed like blurs, but Orson was swiftly overwheld—slashed down again before he could even rise.
Dozens of towering holy swords rained from above, pinning him to the ground.
Orson's blood drained fast.
Under this overwhelming stat gap and law suppression, his fad skill was a joke.
Misius knew the longer he remained in this world, the greater the risk—but he wanted to end this quickly, allowing no room for Orson to resist.
"Enough!"
Aeloria, now human-ford, raised her skeletal blade in fury, trying to force Misius back and pull Orson to safety.
But the seasoned warrior instantly read her intent. With a spread of his six wings, he perfectly maneuvered mid-air.
Holy light swirled around his wrist.
"Holy Spear Barrage!"
Four spears of elental light shot forth, piercing Aeloria's limbs and pinning her to the ground in a spray of dragon blood.
Aeloria howled, immobilized and unable to shift back into dragon form—locked down for one full minute.
"How about surrendering and only losing half?"
Orson's voice stiffened, as if recognizing this was his final dead end.
"Surrender? You're offering surrender now?"
Misius laughed incredulously. The so-called heir of BlazeKing—so pathetic and naive.
"Surrender…"
Gasps swept through Godslayer's ranks. Was today truly the fall of the man who stood atop Infinite Dinsions?
A wave of helplessness spread among the players. While none wanted to accept it, perhaps negotiating with a God NPC was their best chance at survival.
But amidst the despair, Bradley and Madman exchanged surprised glances—light flickering in their eyes.
They knew Orson too well. This man was titanium-level stubborn.
Polite on the surface, but cross his bottom line? He was more unyielding than anyone.
There was no way he would genuinely utter the word "surrender."
Misius dismissed it, coldly swinging his blade again.
Blinding sword light lashed out, almost too bright to look at.
In re monts, Orson resembled a pincushion, his HP plumting to under 100 million.
At that level, Misius could execute him instantly.
"You've resigned yourself—but it's too late."
Divine power flared once more, illuminating the night sky as if turning it to day.
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