Lethal Bite - 6,000,000!
Lethal Bite - 6,000,000!
...
In the jaws of the Death God Dragon King, all beings were equal. The barbarian high priest's eyes burst in their sockets as blood sprayed wildly. His body was shredded, chewed to pieces, and swallowed whole.
A brilliant shower of golden-purple light cascaded through the air—an awe-inspiring scene.
"You have reached Level 77."
"You have obtained: Perfected Legendary Gear x6."
"You have obtained: Heroic Gear/Accessories x8."
"You have obtained: 30,000 Gold."
Orson frowned. Just as Madman had complained, the non-human races of Infinite Dimensions were dirt poor.
A King-level NPC possessing Rule Power died and all it dropped was a few scraps. Only one item stood out—an Extreme Legendary Set called Wilderness Titan, and even that required level 90 to equip. Its stats were hidden and needed appraisal.
Wearing an unsealed artifact set himself, Orson had grown picky—regular legendaries barely impressed him anymore.
What he didn't know was that a complete high-tier Legendary Set was something even top-tier spenders would kill for. The auction houses were full of loose pieces, but full sets were rare, especially those with awakening effects.
Current player power levels weren't high enough to consistently clear dungeons that dropped matching top-tier gear. Even large guilds had to make do with mix-and-match sets to push their stats.
After all, not everyone was Orson—loaded with divine relics and rare materials.
Even if you had the mats, without massive quantities of high-grade soul crystals, the abysmal crafting success rates would make most players give up before they started.
"Well, it's got the word Titan in the name. Can't be total garbage," Orson muttered.
Ding—
Orc Heretic title activated!
The system pinged. Orson paused. Amid the blood and gore, a piece of armor floated—silver plates shrouded in dense black light.
"Forbidden Magic-tier armor?"
Orson's eyes lit up. He snatched it up to inspect.
[Berserker Armor: Cursed by Chaos]
Tier: Ancient Relic (Ancient Divine Item)
Class Restriction: Warrior
Effect 1: Wearing this armor invokes a curse—cannot be removed, dropped, or given away.
Effect 2: Gain Primal Berserker Titan's Blessing and the buff Divine Battle Spirit.
+100% Attack Power
Size, HP, and AoE scale with Attack Power
Effect 3:
In Peace Mode: Lose 1% max HP per second (ignores healing)
In Combat: Lose 10% HP/sec; surrounding enemies receive equal damage
Upon death, triggers Berserker Bloodburst, dealing lethal damage to all nearby targets
Note: This armor has been degraded from divine tier by an ancient chaos deity's curse. Lifting the curse will restore its full rank and remove Effect 3.
"Heh... Heh-heh… This relic's previous name was ridiculous, and its current one is downright demented."
Orson was stunned. Wearing this armor was basically agreeing to drag your enemies—and yourself—straight to hell.
The kicker? The wearer would constantly bleed HP whether they were in combat or not. Was this some kind of medieval menstrual cycle simulator?
Was this even legal?
Wait...
"Cursed by an ancient chaos god?"
His brow furrowed. He turned the armor over, noticing some grime on the back that looked like a bloodstain—but the blood was greenish-blue.
Orson immediately pulled out the Chaos Cauldron and compared it.
His expression darkened.
"Of course... that damned kettle's handiwork again!"
What grudge did it have? What vendetta? It had taken a divine relic and ruined it into a bloodletting torture device.
Vile. Just vile.
"Well… this thing is perfect for Bradley."
Orson's grin stretched ear to ear. He could already picture Bradley's miserable fate, plagued forever by this insane gear.
Nearby, Gale sat silently, cradling the severed head of the Ghostfang Frostwolf King, his face streaked with blood and tears. Hearing Orson's delighted chuckle sent a chill down his spine.
He dared not look up at the man—the demon king who had just broken his entire world.
The Crimson Lizard King reverted to humanoid form and dropped the barbarian high priest's head at Orson's feet.
Orson nodded coolly. "Same as always. Let him join his king in the grave."
"And him?" Crimson Lizard King's eyes swept toward Gale and the head in his lap.
Gale instinctively recoiled, holding the head tight, blood-tears streaming down his face.
"Look at me."
Orson walked up slowly. Gale looked up, terrified. In Orson's eyes, he saw not a man—but an abyss so deep it threatened to devour his soul.
In that moment, Gale realized what he'd done: made a deal with the devil, staking his soul in a forbidden pact.
Gale gritted his teeth. "If you let my sister live… I'll die. I'll give you peace of mind, so you won't have to fear our tribe's revenge."
He closed his eyes, prepared to be executed.
"The King was a coward, yes—but he was also a good father."
The blade never came. Instead, Orson gently patted his head.
"His only mistake was being scared of the heavens. I don't need your whole tribe enslaved. I just need you to kneel."
"Dig a grave. Give the old king a warrior's rest."
Crimson Lizard King transformed and used death-breath to blast a massive pit into the earth. The hole immediately crystallized over with black ice.
Together, they buried the king and his mount.
"Brother!"
Before Gale could recover, a tearful voice called out. Orlona, the saintess of the Frostwolf, rushed into his arms.
Gale stared around in confusion.
The demon king… was gone.
Only a gust of cold wind swept through the hills. And a blood pact scroll lay where Orson had stood.
"Damn sand in my eyes..."
Orson muttered, wiping his face. Crimson Lizard King shot him a look of disdain. One man, one dragon—they flew toward Riftrock City.
Under the night sky, the city lay in ruins. The occasional burst of magic lit up broken towers. Everywhere Orson looked, there was nothing but destruction.
He saw crowds of NPCs fleeing with bags in hand—Bradley's team had clearly turned the place inside out.
The defensive barriers had been shattered. Three massive holes gaped in the once-imposing city walls. The gates were gone. Blood and corpses littered the streets.
"Number 4,627—killed!"
"What? So what if your Soul Seal's better than mine? Number 1,906—dead!"
Outside the city lord's mansion, a man and woman fought back-to-back against retreating imperial soldiers. Exhausted but relentless, the siblings pushed forward.
Their lifesteal passives allowed them to dive into the thickest combat zones, only fighting the hardest enemies.
Pew! Pew!
Magic sniper fire danced through the crowd. Wild Gale wielded sword in one hand and gun in the other, dual-wielding like a madman.
Behind him, a wrecked Titan Mech lay in pieces. Their ten-unit ambush squad had all been destroyed—but their kill count was staggering.
The Imperial Guard and the private army of Duke Kassadin had once numbered over 90,000. Now, only scraps remained.
Six lesser Dragon Knights slain. One golden dragon down. Three Saint Lords obliterated beyond recognition.
Ruby: "I have to log off and pee… cover me for a sec?"
Bradley: "Shut up. Focus. Rescue the city lord. Capture Duke Kassadin alive!"
His Light-Dark Greatsword swept through imperial defenders like a hurricane.
Wild Gale: "Supplies are almost gone. It's just us left. Kassadin's at least Saint Lord-class. Charging in recklessly might be suicide."
Slaughter Spree: "Fall back to the tower. Use the terrain to stall until backup arrives."
Bradley snapped: "If you hadn't shown off on your stupid dragon and dragged aggro, we wouldn't be in this mess!"
Slaughter Spree grimaced. "Alright, alright! My bad. How was I supposed to know they had enchanted artillery? That crap hurts!"
"Too much... way too much loot! I can't carry it all! Minion Boy #2, help! Go for the head! No—stab the belly!"
The loot glow had barely appeared before a flash of light zipped by and vanished. Berenice wailed, yelling nonsense as she tried to direct her summons.
Chirp! Chirp!
Suddenly, the little yellow chick sleeping on Bradley's head woke up and chirped joyfully, sensing something behind them.