Chapter 680: Gruumsh!
An ancient and solemn battle hymn echoed across the scarred land, while the pressure radiating from the one-eyed orc grew even more terrifying.
The moment He appeared, a chaotic spherical force field erupted for thousands of meters around Him, extinguishing even the thermal shockwaves of the nuclear explosion.
Toxic black rock oozed from cracks in the earth, and poisonous liquid spurted from the ground—a sign of a god's descent.
The wyvern riders circling above could no longer endure it. They collapsed mid-air, plummeting from the sky.
But the orc ignored them. His gaze pierced past the riders, as if seeing a colossal figure hidden behind them.
"Arrogant red dragon, your pitiful empire is doomed—for you have provoked a true god!
From this moment on, you are the eternal enemy of the countless orcs across the multiverse. We shall wage unending war upon you. I will destroy your home, ravage your land, and slaughter your people!"
The one-eyed orc's voice boomed like thunder, louder and more powerful than the explosion that preceded it—imbued with divine might. It was the vow of a racial god against His enemy.
Instantly, from the 1st to the 666th layer of the Abyss, from Avernus to Nessus, from the Wild Fields to the Roaring Void—
Throughout the vast multiverse, every orc—whether still battling, fleeing, or slaughtering civilians—received the same command in their hearts.
——The Ember Empire is their eternal, mortal enemy! Cassius Claudious Norrixius is their enemy!
In a remote corner of the Wild Fields, a trade caravan from the Empire was bartering pots and pans for metal ores and orc slaves with a nameless orc tribe. The exchange had been going smoothly.
But then, the orcs' expressions twisted into fury. Their eyes turned hateful and murderous, as if seeing their natural-born foes.
"You're Imperial scum!" "No mercy!" "By Father God's will!" the orcs roared, swinging spears and axes as they charged the caravan.
"They've gone mad! Kill them!" Amid panicked orders, the caravan guards took aim. Gunfire and screams echoed as acrid smoke filled the valley.
Similar scenes unfolded across all planes touched by the Empire—hundreds of clashes erupted at once.
On some planes, the Empire's advanced weaponry allowed them to wipe out the orcs. On others, the sheer strength and numbers of orcs tore the unprepared Imperials to shreds.
Just like their instinctive hatred of elves and dwarves, this command instilled every orc with a primal loathing for the Ember Empire—even those who'd never seen an Imperial in their lives.
Their children, and their children's children, would be born hating the Empire—feeling an urge to kick even an Imperial dog.
As the "Old Testament" says: love what the god loves, hate what the god hates.
Such is the absolute authority of a racial deity. With a word, a glance, or a thought, He can direct His people's hatred.
Only the orcs and half-orcs born within the Empire were shielded from the divine command—barely holding onto reason. Yet even they struggled to resist urges to destroy or kill.
In time, even they could become enemies of the Empire—rabid haters.
Just a few words caused this overwhelming wave of chaos. The one-eyed orc's identity was now clear—
He was the Great Watcher, the Sleepless One, the One-Eyed God, and undisputed leader of the orc pantheon—Gruumsh, the Orc God!
At this moment, after Inav Valley had been obliterated by a nuclear blast, with nearly all green-skins wiped out, the orc god finally descended in avatar form—walking upon the earth!
Gruumsh scanned the field of ruin. Orc remains lay everywhere, most of them carbonized into blackened skeletons.
Though He had known all through divine authority, seeing it in person filled Him with uncontainable fury.
The "Chaos Orcs"—created at great cost through a pact with the Abyss—had been completely exterminated by the Ember Empire!
How dare they!
How dare that red dragon do this?! It was a declaration of war against the entire orc race!
Months ago, He had admired the red dragon—his massacre of shield dwarves, his defeat of Dumathoin's avatar. He'd even considered an alliance.
Never did Gruumsh imagine that dragon would be so arrogant—offending both sides just to devour one city!
Gruumsh had seen many mighty dragons who defied the gods. They always died mad. He was certain—Cassius Claudious Norrixius would be next.
As Gruumsh's rage boiled, crimson storms swept the land around Him, carrying chaos, fury, and corruption.
Even a glimpse of that red glow could strike mortals with paralyzing fear. Weaker creatures—rabbits, moles—dropped dead from fright.
Anyone standing at the domain's center, meeting Gruumsh's eyes, would collapse—even the most iron-willed legendary monks.
As for ordinary mortals?
They'd go insane before getting close—driven mad or killed outright by the divine aura of chaos, evil, hatred, and war.
Gruumsh furrowed His brow, glaring at the orc remains. He raised His spear, blood-tipped, to the heavens.
Then, in a deep, ancient, venomous orcish voice, He said: "So long as the enemy lives, the orcs will never truly die."
At His words, wandering souls descended from above, seeking their former bodies.
A black mist rose, covering the land. Leftover orc spores gathered, resurrecting the fallen.
But those in the explosion's center were beyond saving—vaporized entirely. Not even Gruumsh could bring them back.
Less than 20% of the orcs survived. Barely a hundred thousand.
"Father God..."
"Damn Imperials..."
"I'll kill them... kill them all..."
Thousands of orcs whispered in hatred, picking up weapons, rising with charred, scarred bodies.
They had died in that explosion. But under Gruumsh's divine power, they rose again—larger, stronger, more fearless than before!
Gruumsh pointed His bloodied spear south: "My warriors, return! Avenge yourselves upon the Ember Empire! Slaughter their people!"
At once, the wasteland erupted with cheering. The undead orcs howled, stampeding south.
"BOOM!"
Gruumsh stepped forward—tens of kilometers in a single stride. Space shattered around Him. The crimson domain moved with Him, a walking cataclysm.
In a few steps, He led His resurrected horde hundreds of miles north of the Blackstone Mountains—back to the battlefield strewn with wreckage.
In Avenderdan, the Wyvern Capital, officers and soldiers stared in panic as the crimson storm surged closer.
"Look!"
"Wh-What is that?!"
"Orcs?! Impossible! We almost wiped them out! How are there this many left?!"
"Damn it! T-That pressure... it feels like His Majesty Cassius is coming. Who—what is that?!"
Even the most loyal and brave soldiers trembled. That pressure—primal terror of a superior being—shattered their courage.
Atop the city walls, a sharp crack rang out. Drol's telescope fell and shattered.
The hobgoblin general collapsed, shaking violently. Blood streamed from his closed eyes, face contorted with fear, rage, and hatred.
One glimpse of the one-eyed orc pierced Drol's soul—like a spike driven into his mind.
The orc and hobgoblin pantheons had warred for tens of thousands of years. Every hobgoblin instinctively feared and hated Gruumsh.
Massive frame, dark armor, bloodied spear, and the unmistakable single eye.
Drol recognized Him instantly—and panicked.
Hearing the commotion, goblin guards rushed in. "General Drol, what's happened?!"
Drol wiped the blood from his eyes, steadied himself, and ordered: "Find Lady Misha. Have her contact His Majesty immediately. Tell her—
The orc god has descended!"
"Yes, sir!"
The guards blanched, a storm of dread rising in their hearts. They bolted toward Misha's residence.
Misha had already sensed the divine descent. She had begun praying to her liege—the Ember Emperor, Cassius. Worry filled her golden eyes.
Hands clasped, eyes closed, she whispered: "Master of the Ember Empire, King of Thunder and Flame, my sovereign above all..."
Unlike Dumathoin, a neutral god with principles, Gruumsh belonged to the chaotic evil alignment—akin to abyssal demons, he acted without regard for consequence.
In response to the orc genocide, he would strike back without mercy, blood for blood.
And as a greater deity, even under material plane suppression, his avatar alone could annihilate cities.
If Emperor Cassius did not intervene personally, the Wyvern Capital would fall. The entire garrison could be wiped out.
Misha was right—Gruumsh meant to destroy the city, to display his unmatched divine might.
In the past, Gruumsh would never have dared. It cost Him dearly and provoked material plane rejection.
But now, with the world in chaos, space torn—an age of upheaval—it was Gruumsh's chance to rise again through war!
With the elf and dwarf gods distracted by his abyssal allies, he could finally crush Avenderdan and breach the Blackstone barrier—letting the orcs sweep south unchecked!
Gruumsh raised His hand, pulling a massive iron torch from the void. He lifted it high.
With a sharp crack, chaotic fire ignited—red, black, and green flames intertwined.
His spear still wet with elven blood, the eternal flame reflected in His remaining eye.
"Foolish Imperials. You kneel to a pathetic lizard, blind to the wrath of a true god.
And that shall bring your... destruction!"
Muscles bulging, veins pulsing, Gruumsh hurled his blood spear. It pierced the torch, soaring skyward in a blaze!
"RIIIIIP—!"
The blood spear tore the air, pierced the heavens, swelling mid-flight into a hundred-meter giant spear.
It plummeted, trailing blood winds and divine flames. The sheer pressure of it crushed everything.
Even before striking, the spear's force toppled buildings, killed hundreds of soldiers, and brought wyverns crashing down.
Mages tried to flee, but the surrounding space—distorted by divine power—was like a stormy sea. One wrong move, and they'd be shredded.
Officers and troops stared up, faces twisted in fear and despair. This was power beyond mortal grasp.
"Cassius above..."
"No! Is this the power of the orc god? Are we going to die here?!"
Some panicked, some awaited death—but many believed in the Emperor's salvation. They fought desperately to save themselves.
"Quick! By my command—activate Level Three Defense Barrier!"
"Start the internal wall formations! Raise the High Exorcism Barrier!"
"Deploy the Prism Light Wall!"
"All Imperial mages—form a Greater Otiluke's Exorcism Shield with me!"
The flaming spear grew larger, seeming to stretch from sky to earth, threatening to turn the city to rubble.
Magical shields and barriers shattered before divine might, torn apart effortlessly.
Layer after layer collapsed. Despair deepened.
"ROAR——!"
A deafening dragon's roar split the sky. Above the city, space ripped open—flames surged from the rift—and a massive dragon claw emerged.
Instantly, hope blazed in the people's eyes—wild, radiant hope.