As the slaughter between the abyssal demons and the zealots raged on, vast torrents of blood rained down from the sky—soaking into the land and sea alike.
Whether it was the frenzied demons or the fanatical followers of the gods, they all died swiftly and unceremoniously—like mortal insects caught in a tempest.
Compared to the mortal fleets that could be casually obliterated with a fraction of their forces, the zealots pouring out of the three divine gates proved far more troublesome.
Even for creatures of the Abyss, it was impossible to simply crush them through overwhelming strength alone. For now, the battle remained at a deadlock.
After quietly observing for a while, Orsaga turned his attention toward the divine presences lingering behind the golden portal—still spying on him, still refusing to step forward.
With a flick of his wrist, a blood-red spear of fire, dozens of meters long, formed in his palm.
Then—without a second thought—he hurled it.
Though he used less than a tenth of his full power, the spear still pierced the air like a bolt of divine retribution, crossing the battlefield in a blink and flying straight toward the heart of the golden gate.
The zealots in its path immediately panicked, desperately trying to block the heretical strike.
Even though they knew the difference in power was insurmountable—like ants challenging a dragon—their faith drove them forward like moths to flame.
They were instantly incinerated, consumed along with their fragile souls in a burst of searing heat.
Their efforts bought zero delay.
Just as the spear was about to slam into the golden gate—
A single gold-armored hand reached out from within, calmly catching it mid-flight.
With a squeeze, the divine flame was extinguished before it could even explode.
"Filthy demon... Every time I see your kind, I'm reminded how stained this world truly is."
A voice like a grinding furnace echoed out. From within the portal stepped a figure clad in resplendent golden armor, wings of pure white extending from his back. A dozen others, dressed in similar divine garb, followed close behind.
Their gazes toward Orsaga and the other demons radiated nothing but disgust.
"I feel the same," Orsaga replied casually.
"A loathsome, vile race," came another voice.
The other two gates flared to life as more divine figures emerged—some twenty from one portal, and over a dozen from the other.
Nearly sixty in total.
Each radiated a pressure that warped the air, their divine essence undeniable.
Even a casual strike from one of them could tear apart mountains and split oceans.
From Orsaga's perspective, the weaker ones possessed power roughly equivalent to a High-Rank Demon, while the strongest matched the level of a Greater-Rank Demon.
That's not even factoring in world-bonus blessings or divine authorities.
In terms of high-end combatants, the enemy held the advantage—with seven at Greater-Rank equivalency.
But on the High-rank front, the abyss clearly dominated: Orsaga's forces had over a thousand High-Rank demons; the enemy barely numbered a few dozen.
At the bottom rank, the abyssal demons also held superiority, though the zealots and the human fleets could still stall them for a while.
On the surface, it seemed Orsaga had the upper hand.
But again—this was ignoring the two critical factors: divine authorities and local world reinforcement.
And those two made all the difference.
The enemy's confidence came from precisely that. Their "home field advantage" was no small thing.
Yet Orsaga didn't seem concerned—and the other demons didn't care much either.
As long as there was still a chance of victory, none of them were discouraged.
After all, every Greater-Rank Demon present was a battle-hardened apex predator—each one having clawed their way through mountains of corpses. Obstacles meant nothing to them.
Pointing at the gold-armored divine being, Orsaga turned to his fellow Greater-Rank Demons and asked:
"That one's pretty arrogant. I'll take him. Any objections?"
None of them argued.
"I'll take those two," one said.
"I'll take the one on the right," said another.
In less than five seconds, the seven divine Gods were divided up like fresh meat at a butcher's stall.
From the sky, one of the gods—who hadn't reached Greater-Rank level—sneered mockingly:
"Fools. Arrogant filth, the lot of y—"
CRACK!!
Before he could finish his sentence, Orsaga's massive tail lashed out like lightning, cutting across dozens of kilometers of air and pulverizing the God's head like a melon—long before the other gods could even react.
His skull exploded in a wet burst of divine ichor.
The surrounding gods stood frozen in disbelief.
Orsaga just laughed out loud, teeth bared:
"Haha! Look at that. Can't even back up your big mouth."
"Too weak to talk that big. Pathetic."
The glare of the gods grew murderous, but Orsaga remained unmoved.
After all, they wanted to devour him?
He wanted to devour them too.
The only difference was—he meant it literally.
He wasn't a metaphor. He was a verb.
Watching his subordinate's divine body collapse in the distance, the golden-armored god—Helion, the Sun God—gritted his teeth in fury.
Though the god's soul hadn't fully perished and still clung weakly to his divine realm, the insult could not be tolerated.
Helion's rage burned like a furnace.
"Attack!" he bellowed.
In the blink of an eye, the three divine factions exploded into motion.
Divine power surged across the sky as the gods unleashed their strongest strikes in unison.
Not to be outdone, the abyssal demons below responded in kind.
Greater-Rank, High-Rank, Lesser-Rank… even the Minor-Rank and Juvenile Demons all roared as one and launched counterattacks.
In the chaotic exchange of divine wrath and demonic power, Orsaga's towering form tore through the raging vortex of energy and appeared before the golden gate.
A wicked smile spread across his face as he hovered before a dozen gods.
"You—!"
Helion had only just registered Orsaga's sudden approach when the demon's eight wings erupted in a deluge of bloodflame.
Waves of corrosive fire flooded outward like a blazing whirlpool, encasing the entire region in a prison of heat and despair.
Nearby deities recoiled as the fire gnawed at their divine bodies, trying to sear through their protections.
Hovering calmly above them, Orsaga sneered at Helion:
"I was going to fight you one-on-one. But now I think that's too much trouble. Let's make this simple—I'll kill all of you at once."
To him, the lesser gods who hadn't reached Greater-Rank were just free loot—bonus rewards.
"Arrogant bastard!!"
Furious, Helion twisted his massive golden sword, summoning an enormous solar flare that bloomed above his head.
A radiant fireball burned like a miniature sun, spilling a million golden rays across the sky.
"Oh? A Sun God?"
Feeling the pulse of divine solar power, Orsaga's grin widened.
"Flame demon versus Sun God… Why does this feel familiar?, Like I've seen this scene before…"
His thoughts drifted back to the Myling World—when the Flame Lord Ignarok fought that world's deity on the Sun.
He'd never stuck around to see the end of that duel. He'd left early.
But now?
He had a front-row seat for the sequel.
And he was the main character.
__
T/N:
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