Infinite Range: The Sniper Mage

Chapter 787: 787: The World of Divine Grace

“You can kill me and it would not matter. This world still belongs to the High God of Aurora.”

Sigrel’s face was iron. He secretly forced every drop of power from his god-seed and went on, “You think you are strong, but to the supremes in the galactic deep you are a mote of dust.”

“So what.”

Within the colossal avatar, Orson’s white hair whipped in the wind. His eyes were still cold, sharp as a knife.

“Join us, Orson.”

Sigrel stared up at the grim giant of god-seed steel. His soul fought not to shiver. He ground out, “As soon as we find the prophesied woman, there will be no limit to the number of gods beneath the High God.”

Orson arched a brow and motioned for him to continue.

Sigrel drew a long breath. “Then the divine domains will merge into the World of Divine Grace. That is the true divine realm, a sacred soil that can constantly birth god-tier powerhouses.”

“The World of Divine Grace.”

A glimmer lit Orson’s eyes. Compared to the old gods of Pantheon Sanctum, his combat power was beyond belief, yet his intel on the galaxy’s core was limited.

Seeing Orson’s interest, Sigrel pressed in. “In a world with near infinite resources, anyone can become an immortal. The number of gods will no longer be capped.”

Orson’s expression shifted. To birth a god consumed staggering merit and resources. Even with Xenon controlling most of her world’s wealth, she had only scraped into Lower God. Bound by divine rules, a newborn god who wanted true longevity needed constant faith from trialists, which inevitably meant seizing an entire divine world. A world that could elevate countless trialists to godhood was a temptation beyond words.

“And I, the leader of Pantheon Sanctum, will nominate you as God-King of the World of Divine Grace. The stars will sway for your name.”

Sigrel’s gaze deepened. He hurled another bomb. If the Goddess of Aurora’s rules that lingered in the united divine realms were erased, he would inherit her legacy and become the maker of laws, master of all. Then every trialist across the galaxy would feel the name of the chaos god in their souls.

“God-King. Hahaha.”

Orson could not help it. He laughed into his palm, the sound thick with scorn.

“I do not see what is funny. The galactic center is not what you imagine,” Sigrel said coldly. “I, lord of Grey Wolf World, was once a nobody in the World of Divine Grace, and yet I can crush all life on Earth with overwhelming force.”

“Fine. If High Gods are so almighty, tell me. Why did those beings whose tendrils spanned the galaxy die.”

Orson’s soft smile shut Sigrel up in a single sentence.

By his own claim, the Goddess of Aurora was such a High God, yet the worlds she ruled had already fallen apart. What eternity. What undying dominion.

“On your way, then. Until every last member of Pantheon Sanctum is dead, my people and I will know no peace,” Orson sighed.

The words fell.

“Ingrate.” Official source is novelFre.net

Sigrel’s body rose by meters. Blue light flooded his skin. His cords of muscle roared like dragons.

The ground nearby dropped out like soft tofu, unable to bear raw force.

Bang.

Sigrel launched. The earth split. The giant body crushed everything beneath it. With strength alone he vaulted a thousand meters, gathered power midair, and fell like a shell.

“If I touch you, you die, chaos god.”

He was blisteringly fast. In his eyes, that man’s magic rivaled a High God, but physical defense must be the weak point. In the end, a trialist was still a trialist. You could not be perfect. As long as Orson’s body lagged behind, Sigrel’s self-buffing domain would slash magic damage to trivial amounts. That was his trump card.

Orson’s expression did not change. His war staff lifted. A colossal hexagram flared underfoot. A hurricane of spears rose like a storm.

Sigrel was no pretender. Seeing the tidal wave of spears, his pupils knifed down. He killed his momentum, danced along the spear’s edge, and drove to striking distance.

“What a foolish god.”

Usher, whose body was knitting back together, let out a bitter laugh heavy with mockery. Mages feared melee. True for most trialists.

Except Orson.

Choose to trade blows with him and there was only one end. You die faster.

“Chaos Blade, Revised.”

Orson’s lifted staff warped in his grip. A sword of chaos split the sky and fell.

The world shook.

The mountains around Forever City split in two. A new range carved itself into the earth, stretching beyond sight.

Rune effects triggered.

Armor damaged.

Armor awakening effect, Armor of Power.

Damage reduced by 80 percent.

Sigrel howled within the blade light. Half his body was vapor. Cracks crazed his divine armor like glass.

A number rose that made every scalp crawl.

Lethal strike minus one hundred and twenty million.

Half his bar vanished. The domain’s cap shattered under the blow.

“Chaos god. Monster from the deep galaxy. Even if I die, you pay a price.”

Sigrel roared like a wounded wolf and hurled himself forward on raw divine buffs, body mangled, fury past reason.

“Cut him down.”

“Every invader will die without a grave.”

“Orson, for Father’s vengeance.”

Godslayer’s ranks roared, battle intent fused into a dragon coiling at Orson’s back.

“Kill.”

Fire burned behind Orson’s eyes. He brought the blade down again.

Armor destroyed.

Lethal strike minus one hundred and thirty million.

Sigrel’s HP scraped bottom. His head nearly came off, yet he still came on, a wraith that would not let go.

As Orson raised the Chaos Blade again, malice flashed in Sigrel’s gaze. A white gleam climbed his arm.

Orson’s eyes narrowed. A gold bracer, unassuming at a glance.

Divine Artifact Breakwind, damaged.

Effect unknown.

Uses limited.

Orson’s giant hand paused. A chill moved across his skin.

“This bastard. He dares take the hit. There is a trick,” Madman muttered, eyes tight. Sigrel was not the dullard he played.

Orson saw it as well. But the man was too fast, and in Aspect of the World his own swollen numbers came with a price. The body was not nimble.

“Edge of Ten Thousand Swords.”

In the instant of danger, Xenon forced herself upright. A storm of metal blazed to life and formed a wall before Orson.

“Chixiao.”

A red streak cut the air. Usher, horns black and eyes lit with shadow, now a fusion of man and archdemon, struck.

“Insects.”

Sigrel snarled and turned. One punch from the bracer split both domains like silk. The gold light did not stop. It scraped Orson’s avatar’s shoulder. Half his fiftyfold boost fell away in an instant.

A direct hit would have been grim.

Xenon went pale but smiled thinly. “A rare-use divine artifact. If I am right, it breaks god-seed domains.”

A tremor ran through Orson’s heart. If not for Xenon’s experience, he would have tripped at the last step.

With Sigrel’s domain stripped, Orson left no more openings. He pulled back, shifted into full caster form, brought his hands together. The war staff sang.

“Chaos Fusion, Divine Phantasm Curse.”

A cascade of jeweled orbs appeared, light pouring over upturned faces. Fervor flared in a thousand eyes. “Kill him.”

The heavens rang. The pearls spun.

“Incredible,” Sigrel murmured, dazed for a breath as a body that could match divine weapons unraveled and vanished with the pearls in the churn of spatial currents.

The storm raged for minutes and fell away. Dust settled. A cyan god-seed floated with a golden bracer in the air.

“One left.”

Orson glanced at the Rainbow Corridor. He cared nothing for god-seeds or artifacts. Only for every invader dying here.

The divine realm had existed for ages uncounted. The gods who wove its rules were beyond imagining. So what.

If gods bled, then in any form, at any strength, they could be slain.

So let the galaxy burn.

End this endless apocalypse. End this accursed game of gods.

“Earth, my kin.”

Orson’s voice rose as he lifted the war staff. Bloodlust rolled off him like a storm. His shout carried to every corner of the world. “With me. Kill.”