Orson weighed Cain’s offer in silence, gaze shifting, stormy then clear.
Cain flared his demon wings. Black douqi roared out like a tidal sea, a born sovereign’s aura flooding the Ninety-ninth Heaven.
"They have conquered dozens of worlds. Under the baptism of Awakened Will, each one has gained a life without end."
"They will shatter god-armor and break god-pride."
His voice rose, fierce and ringing. The ascended devil’s pupils swept every Sunforge awakener. The rebels he led and the likes of Samuel all pressed hands to earth like a field of grain bowing in the wind, prostrating before a warlord who radiated invincibility.
"Sooner or later, every god in the galaxy will tremble because of them."
"Chaos Overlord, god of mortals, join us. Together we topple the rule of the gods."
Heat burned in his eyes. The Sacred Mountain that stopped all others, he walked like a road, even hacking a stair straight up for those to come. See him fight, see him scheme—then you knew why he never lost on Earth.
Orson’s frown barely moved. That single phrase froze a thousand faces; hatred and indignation followed. In Samuel and his crowd, the Godmaster and Immortal Lord were gods made flesh. How dare an outsider refuse?
"You’ll change your mind," Cain said, regret in his tone but nothing else. He knew this wouldn’t be easy.
The zealots’ chanting grated. Orson had no right to govern their choices. But Cain was no nameless saint. Gathering this many awakeners on the topmost heaven—he would have other aims.
Orson raised his eyes to the film above. An endless ocean of demons watched, patient as tide. The near-eternal dome of divine rule was a prison for all life and a shield for The Sunforge World. To leave, you had to break the rule-wall. The cost... he could already see it. For more chapters visit novel·fire·net
Now he understood why the Sunforge Sacred Executor reached the summit and stayed. It wasn’t a choice so much as a chain.
He took a breath. He had picked himself up once already; he wouldn’t stop. Family and friends still waited.
He looked toward the Tiamat temple veiled in radiance. A column of light lanced up from it to the floating island. If there was a path to the Sunforge shrine above, it lay there.
If he wasn’t wrong, the Executor in this dungeon would not welcome visitors. He hadn’t come down. He stood guard, to keep anyone from cracking the rule-shell.
Orson steadied and walked forward.
Cain and the Immortal Lord glanced at each other, an unspoken exchange, then moved. Cain with a clutch of Type VI Destroyers fell in behind.
Orson didn’t care. In a world where his skills were sealed, an uneasy alliance was fine. However many ages he’d lived, whoever he was, the one who had not become a god-weapon under the dome’s protection would still be terrifying.
He crossed the threshold. The Tiamat statue seemed to leap away, space stretching, like he’d been hurled onto a track of time and void. He glimpsed a woman in a black dress, raven-haired, bending to the goddess with a stick of incense. She turned. Her eyes were blue gemstones, deep and bright, her face devastating, a gentleness beneath the frost.
She looked exactly like the Immortal Lord, and yet not. Something in her was above, looking down. A pressure and poise that set them worlds apart.
So Cain and the Immortal Lord had been here before. No wonder the machine mimicked her. Even so, two god-tier Awakeners together had failed—hence their invitation.
The woman’s feet shed light. When it faded, a mountain of rot towered ahead, hundreds of meters high, all demon corpses stacked like brick. Smoke curled in the dying sun. The heap stretched into the dungeon’s depths, a river of blood running red and reeking.
She stood in scarlet, perfect and calm, a blade across her back, the contrast so sharp it hurt.
"You aren’t my match. Leave."
No scorn, no disdain. Simply the clearest fact in the world.
Orson focused and probed.
Lower God of the Galaxy: God of Arms, Bellara
Title: Lord of Sunforge, Fire God’s Handmaiden
Divine Domain: Unknown
His face hardened. A true lesser god stood ten paces away.
She started to turn away, then looked back, surprised, and smiled. "You carry something different."
Interest flickered. "Impressive. Even sealed, still impressive. A pity you’re young."
Her aura rose like a wave. Every cell in Orson’s body screamed. The Supreme Arcane Blade lifted of its own accord between them. She only smiled.
His fingers trembled. The animal sense of death hammered his spine. This handmaiden had crossed into godhood. What did that make the Dragon Ancestor who had reigned here?
Cain stared at her, breath quickening. Black douqi leaked from seams in his war-plate. "We have to leave The Sunforge World. Don’t stand in our way."
"You can’t kill me again," the Immortal Lord said, her voice the same cool timbre as Bellara’s.
"You won’t make it," Bellara sighed. "Even if you pass me, the four guardian spirits won’t let you go."
"I have work," she added, a small shake of the head. "Don’t disturb me."
Smoke boiled up at the statue beyond. A bank of black cloud rolled in, thousands of hulking shapes inside it.
Orson’s eyes sharpened. Middle and high-tier demons by the host, more than a dozen demon kings among them, their power brushing quasi-god.
Bellara’s smile didn’t shift. "If they can’t be finished, fight until the sea is dry."
Her sword flashed downward. Sky and wind shuddered. The black cloud split. Demon blood poured like rain, but not a drop touched her dress.
More than a dozen demon kings howled and tucked themselves behind an Ancient Primarch Horror. The thing was the size of a castle, bristling with bio-cannons.
Bellara’s weapon rippled into a staff. She opened with hundreds of sword-shaped beams that slammed down.
Masses of demons froze mid-lunge. Her weapon shifted again. She loosed a meteor storm of arrows that screamed as they fell. Two quasi-gods didn’t even get a death cry out before they were pounded into paste.
Every shot in the tens of millions, every shot a kill, every shot at a throat or core. This wasn’t raw stats. It was a flawless dance. She flowed through the horde like a woman sweeping a floor. Blood fanned wherever she passed.
Orson’s smile turned rueful. This was what true six-shift mastery looked like. Unassailable. Efficient to the point of boredom. After centuries, even slaughter became housekeeping.
When the incense burned down, the smoke at the statue cleared. Nine of ten demons lay broken.
Bellara glanced at the last curl of ash and stayed her hand. Lines of condensed white light fell out of the high air. The remaining demons fought like beasts but were hauled away by the rule-force, pulled into beams and scattered to the horizon.
Orson’s brows rose. "You’re distributing them to other heavens."
"Correct. A touch of danger helps my awakeners grow," Bellara said, smiling.
He couldn’t help a helpless shake of the head. So the "spawns" in the other heavens were her intentional leaks. And even those scraps kept every other climber sweating on the knife’s edge.