NOVGO.NET Chapter 769: I Never Considered You a Threat
Chapter 769: 769: I Never Considered You a Threat
“Orgod, I’ve been waiting a long time to cross blades with you.”
Taran rose in a storm of lightning. His voice was a rolling thunderhead, his grip firm around a plain, ancient battle-axe.
Orson’s eyes flickered. That was a true god-weapon.
The haft was carved from the heartwood of a World Tree. Just holding it made the space around it buckle and flake away.
[Galactic Lower God: Thunder War God Taran]
[Title: High-God Bloodline, Purifier of Demonkind]
[HP: 600,000,000]
[Attack: 480,000]
[Skills: Mastery of Divine Lightning, Mastery of SS-tier Berserker Arts]
[Divine Domain: Storm of Godslaying Thunder]
Against god-tier adventurers, those stats were oppressive. Against Orson, they barely registered.
What did catch his attention was the title: High-God Bloodline. A true son of divinity, superior to Belenor.
And if the fire-elf princess was right, his godhead was inherited. His power would only swell with time.
Which meant the Norse thunder god was dead.
Taran’s situation mirrored Sienna’s. Both were chosen by mighty deities.
“So you want a one-on-one?” Orson squinted and smiled.
“A dying body,” Ovila sneered. “However strong, it won’t make waves.”
“I thought you were the real thunder god. Turns out… your dad’s dead,” Bradley drawled.
Even normally composed Aurex cracked. “Watch your mouth!”
“Correction,” Bradley said sweetly. “Your dad’s dead. And you, little brother of the thunder line, didn’t even score half a godhead. That sit well with you, Aurex?”
Aurex’s face went stiff. He’d stolen an Abyss Node Engine to claw his way to god-tier, but his ceiling was nowhere near his brother’s.
Orson almost laughed. Godslayer’s number-one himbo was running mind games now.
“Legend says Thor had a half-giant kid brother,” Bradley added. “The trickster god. Maybe that’s your real daddy?”
Faces twisted among the foreign elites. The Norse gods were ancient, not of Earth, and the rivalry between thunder and trickster was famous across galaxies.
“Enough!”
Taran snapped. Lightning and axe became one streak of searing light that smashed straight into Bradley.
“Good! Been wanting to kill this two-faced clown!”
Bradley bit down, dragging his full power up to meet him. Two lightning warriors, head-to-head.
The impact was volcanic. Thunder crashed in braided chords, neither yielding an inch.
Sparks screamed.
The collision wave alone shredded Ovila’s undead army. Corpse dragons popped like paper bags.
“This bastard is… too damn fast!”
Bradley’s gut went cold. He could see the next move coming, but Taran blurred through space like a blinking cursor. A kick hit, and Bradley pinwheeled a kilometer.
He tried to reset and punish. Too slow. Taran flickered again, nearly pure lightning now, and reappeared above his head. The god-weapon fell, its name crackling down the haft:
[Multiparticle Thunderfire].
“Even Pantheon Sanctum doesn’t insult my brother and me,” Taran growled, wrath boiling his eyes.
Inside his Godslaying Thunder Domain, anywhere lightning touched, he could jump. Not even most Lower Gods could track that flash.
Thunder fell.
A figure rose to meet it. What came with him was a galaxy of arrows blazing with chaos.
“Who—”
Taran’s eyes widened as he juked aside.
“Who do you think?”
Orson’s snort was casual.
He saw Taran’s thought flicker and die: that staff-user’s other class was a warrior. How did he just become an archer?
“If I’d been on Earth, you never would have risen,” Orson said. He let the bow fade; the warstaff twisted into a peerless blade and came down in a clean cut. “Even now that you have, with me here, you still don’t have a way up.”
He’d already cracked the domain. You don’t outrun flash by being faster.
You drown it.
“Didn’t you want to fight me? What are you running for?” Orson asked, voice mild.
He didn’t chase. He buried the map. In seconds, a Great Wall of sword-qi stretched across every corridor where the lightning could pour.
Taran’s face darkened. A few jumps took him outside the lattice.
“Above you!” Aurex shouted, desperate to help but hopelessly outclassed.
“Wrong,” Orson said, smiling. “If you’re fighting me, you watch everything within a thousand miles.”
The warblade spun back into a staff. His robe snapped in the wind as his hands came together.
“Supreme Firepower.”
A dark red hexagram boomed into existence, as broad as the sky. It took the entire city under its palm.
Sword Soul Guild and the foreign elites went blank. They thought they’d seen a god’s might. This was an education.
“He calls himself a mortal…” Hobilarze whispered. Even an old war-weapon like him felt his fighting heart splinter.
“Chaos: Judgment Inferno.”
“Chaos: Grasp of the Underking.”
“Chaos: Lances of the Storm.”
The city detonated. Waves of elements crashed and rolled in endless succession.
Lightning was swift, yes. But were you swifter than a god of magic?
“Evade impossible.”
“You have been marked by the Chaos God.”
“Evade impossible.”
Taran blinked and blinked, but his tricks came up empty. The spells that should have missed never did. They hunted him like they were glued to his skin. He jumped. The casting didn’t slow. Spell after spell braided into a dragon of pure chaos that chased him down.
“You won that esports worlds because you never had to play me,” Orson said, shaking his head. “And I’ve never considered you a real threat. God, son of god, whatever. Without grandma and grandpa’s guidance, I could pull a random kid and you’d still die.”
“You’re still as arrogant as ever—”
The next volley of storm-lances forced Taran to shut up and jump again.
“Arrogant what?” Bradley called. “Speak up when you talk to my boss.”
“Yeah,” Madman barked. “What, cat got your tongue? Weren’t you calling us space trash? Keep that same energy!”
They’d been swallowing bile for years. They weren’t missing this chance to spit it back.
Faces turned ashen below. A true god was being run ragged, unable to even turn and face that old man.
“My old man’s cracked! Ha!”
“Real talk, that’s insane. What god doesn’t he toy with?”
On Celestial Fortress, Ethan windmilled his arms, whooping.
Chloe and the others had heard the legends. None of them pictured this. A god, running.
“Everflame Annihilation!”
Taran roared. Cornered, he finally pulled a trump. A crown of dull black iron snapped onto his head. A white vortex blossomed over him, sucking in the swirling chaos.
“A magic-absorbing god-relic? You are carrying some nice toys,” Orson murmured.
As the storm poured in, the iron crown turned red. Thorns along its rim began to liquefy. Taran’s health and mana dipped with every gulp. It had limits.
Godslayer’s answer to every problem was more firepower.
Bang.
The crown blew apart. The vortex vanished. Taran fell like a sack of rocks.
“God-relic exceeded threshold: destroyed.”
“Lethal Strike: 470,000,000.”
The damage number hung in the air. Blood streamed from Taran’s ears, eyes, and nose. He barely lived.
“We cannot allow Lord Taran to fall!”
Hobilarze bellowed. Sword Soul Guild and allied elites clenched their teeth and charged Orson.
He didn’t even look at them.
“Glory to our Lord.”
“Smooch.”
Two massive feet slammed down from above. A dozen saint-tier fighters exploded under dragon toes. Deathfire washed the sky. Warships lit like fireworks.
One tall figure and one small one landed behind Orson.