Chapter 117: Varanus Vs Damascus [2]
The air within the ruined perimeter of Norona City turned violently radioactive with raw conceptual authority.
Damascus is enraged.
With the mortal army safely beyond the horizon, Roy abandoned every shred of restraint.
The pale, gold-flecked irises of his divine form blazed with an icy, predatory madness.
There was no longer any need to manage his reserves.
He didn’t come here to survive; he came to experience what it truly meant to fight a god.
Roy raised his right hand, pulling directly from his soul origin.
Pristine, liquid-crimson Divine Essence—the very source of a deity’s strength, ideas, and reality-warping will—flooded the space around him.
He was burning Divine Essence at a rapid rate but he didn’t care anymore.
He’s fighting for his life.
For if Damascus won, his existence would be exposed to the gods and will be reported before the Director.
When that time comes, he will cease to exist.
He wants to kill Damascus.
No.
He needs to kill Damascus at all cost.
In a fraction of a second, the crimson coalesced into dozens of massive, highly dense divine spears, their tips humming with the concept of absolute eradication.
"Go," Roy growled.
The spears tore through the sky at hypersonic speeds, leaving trails of burning, crimson light that incinerated the ambient dust and turned the air into plasma.
Yet, Damascus didn’t even raise a hand.
He simply stood there, his pristine gray hair drifting lazily in the gale, his lips curled in a mocking grin.
The passive Domain of Misfortune surrounding the God of Misfortune flexed.
His Divine Authority of Misfortune wasn’t only bad luck but it’s the manipulation of probability, cause-and-effect, and systemic glitches to force absolute failure upon an opponent.
In mid-air, the physical laws governing Roy’s attack violently glitched under the weight of cosmic probability effect.
One spear suddenly suffered a microscopic structural flaw and shattered into useless sparks.
Three others were veered off course by an impossible, sudden shift in spatial wind vectors; and the rest violently detonated against each other in a cascade of wasted light before they could even get within ten feet of Damascus’s flesh.
Not a single weapon reached him.
"Pitiful. Is that your true power?" Damascus mocked, stepping forward. "Divine Essence is wastefully thrown away like water by a child who doesn’t know how to wield it."
"Even as a fake god. You still don’t know how to utilize such sacred power"
Before the god finished his sentence, the Domain of Misfortune retaliated.
Roy’s instincts screamed as an invisible wave of conceptual bad luck struck his body.
The golden divine armor pulsing over his chest suddenly misaligned its energy pathways, causing a catastrophic internal backfire.
Roy spat a mouthful of crimson divine blood as his own internal reserves violently destabilized, tearing through his spiritual meridians.
Simultaneously, the ground beneath his feet liquefying into an abyss of volatile magma was not a coincidence—it was the domain calculating the exact worst possible moment for the terrain to give way.
Roy sank into the molten earth, but instead of panicking, he roared.
Sweeping his arms upward, Roy unleashed a massive, 360-degree shockwave of raw, unadulterated divine essence.
He wasn’t aiming to pierce Damascus anymore; he was burning the entire grid of reality.
The blinding golden inferno twisted space itself, vaporizing the magma, melting the atmospheric pressure, and burning through the purple mist of misfortune in a terrifying display of divine brute force.
The city ruins were utterly erased, reduced to a glassy, glowing plain of liquid quartz.
Through the blinding flash of gold and purple ash, Roy emerged, floating above the crater.
His golden hair was wild, his chest heaving, his eyes fixed with extreme focus on the descended deity.
Damascus remained completely unbothered, his 10% divine powers naturally repelling the ambient inferno, his domain continuously causing Roy’s passive defenses to randomly flicker and fail.
Roy observed him in total silence for a single, heavy heartbeat.
He analyzed the subtle delay in Damascus’s conceptual aura—the way the Domain of Misfortune required the god’s continuous, underlying focus to continuously rewrite probability.
In every angle where Roy’s luck increases, he turns those luck into bad luck, negating Roy directly.
’You rely too much on your domain to calculate the attacks for you,’ Roy realized, his golden eyes narrowing to razor slits. ’Let’s see how your bad luck handles a threat it can’t perceive.’
Roy tapped into the hidden depths of his divine origin, reaching past his beastly nature to trigger his secondary, terrifying power.
He activated his divine authority.
Divine Authority of Mindcraft
An invisible, high-tier conceptual pulse—completely devoid of physical velocity, mana, or elemental signature—shot directly from Roy’s mind into the spiritual core of Damascus’s host.
It wasn’t a projectile.
It was an instantaneous rewrite of perception.
For a microsecond, the absolute focus of the God of Misfortune was shattered.
As soon as Damascus blinked, he saw himself standing atop a mountain top with fluffy clouds stretching across his face.
Then he drowned in a sea of lava, then he was being devoured by a pack of wolves.
He lived a thousand lives within a few seconds.
Damascus’s golden eyes widened as a terrifying array of false sensory data, mental noise, and psychic dissonance flooded his divine consciousness.
The pristine flow of his domain staggered, the passive barrier of probability flickering off for the briefest fraction of a second.
That single microsecond was all Roy needed.
Roy vanished from his position, accelerating beyond the speed of light.
Before Damascus could recover his focus or re-establish the shield of misfortune, a sharp, deafening sound of tearing flesh echoed through the absolute silence of the glass desert.
Pskkk!
"W-what is this?"
Damascus stiffened.
The gray-haired vessel gasped, his eyes bulging as he looked down at his chest.
A sleek, radiant blade composed of pure, condensed golden divine essence had driven straight through his back, punching cleanly out of the center of his chest.
Luminous, bruised-purple divine blood dripped from the glowing golden tip, sizzling violently as it hit the air.
Roy stood right behind the descended god, his lips pressed directly against Damascus’s ear, his hand gripping the hilt of the divine blade embedded in the deity’s heart.
"Welcome to the material world," Roy whispered, his golden irises gleaming with cold, victorious malice.