Orc Tyrant

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He is a pilgrim from hell, standing on a tall tower formed by madness and pain and looking down at the army below.

Everything is ants and rats.

Grit-sized creatures are engaged in a holy war, using the final carnival to send the final sacrifice for the inexplicable darkness.

A smile on his face full of tattoos, covered in armor under his neck.

The scarlet armor was cast from blood-stained weapons recovered on the battlefield. It has been repaired numerous times after countless battles. The brass branding on it is always as good as new.

His sword was inserted beside him. It was a weapon forged by witchcraft and death after drinking countless blood. It was named “Blood Tongue”.

The claw he stole from his father was placed in the last stronghold of the legion. The son of Horus called it a stronghold.

He looked down at the frantic creatures below and realized

For a while, he was one of them.

As a vanguard in the war, with a smile in the corner of the eyes and a laugh in the lips when killing.

But at such a long distance, he couldn’t tell whether the fighting army or whether they still have the normal construction, but even a glimpse of the dust through the sand can see the most conspicuous facts.

The forces they gathered had no chance of winning in the face of the overwhelming number of enemies, especially Ok.

Personal bravery and heroic actions are useless here.

A battle can consist of tens of thousands of duels of individual souls, but this cannot win the war.

But victory is not the ultimate goal of this carnival.

The wind, as always the traitor of the sky, brought irregular fragments of the roar from the battlefield below to his ears.

And he didn’t feel guilty about letting the wind pass beside him, as if he didn’t care about his untied long hair flying in the wind, he didn’t feel any sense of killing and screaming.

The patriarch of the blood worship squatted down, holding the red sand on the ground in his hand.

His gaze has never left the battlefield, and even if he has no interest in who lives or dies, the fighting instinct still drives him.

Below him, Ok’s gyroplane hovered or flew over the battlefield, adding their burning breath to the frenzy of the battlefield below.

Ok’s war machine—only at his distance at this distance—is across the crowd, and the flash of their weapon fire is still enough to leave a bright and dazzling track in his field of vision.

He smiled, not because of the battle.

What is the name of this place?

He found himself not even knowing the answer to this question.

Starting from his separation from his sad brother, his curiosity led him to a piece of unfamiliar land, avoiding his former brother and embracing his own path.

However, a problem that suddenly appeared in his mind suddenly made him laugh.

How many warriors are fighting, bleeding, and screaming underneath him?

The vast majority.

He had no doubts about this, and he was ridiculous about it.

Thira stood up and opened her clenched fists, letting the wind blow away the lifeless dust in his hands. The dust with broken bones turned into mist and disappeared into sight under the bleak sun.

He looked at the horizon, and seven giant skeletal towers rushed to the sky in the **** sunlight. These creations were not created by the skills of humans or other races, but by pure sacred ideas.

In his eyes, the landforms shaped by greed and hatred are more real than the mortal craftsmanship or the natural law of ghosts.

He once crossed the annihilated bridge, stepped on the stone island suspended in the void, explored the tombs of alien races, and did not take the slightest trace of the priceless treasures inside, but acquired endless knowledge.

He traveled through hundreds of realities and illusions in the vast ocean.

What drives him is curiosity, what supports him is hatred,

Once, all he needed was anger, but the promise of darkness and power had cooled the core.

Before the sun went down, the elders of the Five Rings reached the tower and came to meet their leaders.

“Soul storm has formed, under the crown.”

Charles Manson knelt in the position closest to Thira. Once he was old, he appeared extremely energetic at this time, and the power from the blood god’s brand was increasing. These high-level churches were the biggest beneficiaries.

However, some mutations also occurred most obviously on them. For example, Manson’s forehead had an extra bent horn.

“I can see it.”

Thira turned and he was familiar with the storm.

He gazed at the energy vortex in the center of the city and recognized the opportunity to call him to this point.

This is the key to the feast.

Victory is false, they just need to create wars, expand wars, let more people die, and let more blood spill.

The believers, the heretics, and Ok, are just a part of this **** grind.

Dunwich is an opportunity where the curtain will become exceptionally weak enough to allow those invisible predators at the other end to pass through and even drag the entire world into it.

The storm expanded at a rate visible to the naked eye.

It seemed to be willing to accept his understanding, it seemed that the destruction it caused was for his benefit, and most importantly, to mock him.

The storm appeared in another place, but it soon disappeared.

Now it is here, in another specific place in the world, waiting for him.

Now it seems that it is not huge, the widest is not more than one kilometer.

However, its scope of influence is far from the naked eye.

It is a horn of hope destroyer, a threat, a crazy promise, this storm has not yet completely broken through the real world, but that disaster will soon come.

“With millions of dedication, the blood **** will open our arms to us.”

The vortex raged in the center of Dunwich, where it used to be the city’s central square, and now it’s almost impossible to see what it once was.

Its expansion is not completely regular, the storm is tumbling in one direction and then in the other direction.

The spiral arms of energy collided, sending out a huge coronal arc towards the sky.

This chaos attracts the eyes and impacts the mind. It is formed by nightmares of war and crazy thoughts.

It is not tangible, but it cuts the gas.

It has no color, but it is also a dazzling darkness.

Thira glanced at the storm, looked away again, glanced at it again, trying to measure its strength.

The terrain on the edge of the storm was full of destroyed corpses and weapons.

The rifle and arm were fused together, the head was elongated like a pale viper, several cars became one, and the messy legs and feet, a torn statue became a big open mouth, and that The monster is trying to devour its hips.

Many unknown monsters were born in the storm.

Despite all the anger, although the screams and roars of the combatants were completely audible, the vortex itself was silent.

Some voices are still basically human, swallowed by madness and hatred.

The other voices were changed, and their timbre was completely abnormal, as if those shouting creatures had teeth in their throats and mouths on their tongues.

Together they created a chorus of war, where the purpose of the battle has been lost, and all that remains is the thirst for destruction.

As the storm expands, something moves in the unbound energy tide.

Thira could not clearly feel what it was, but it stirred the waves of the vast ocean and protruded his angry body from the depths of nothingness.

It acts with a certain intent to destroy.

As the storm expanded, Thira resisted the new temptation of victory and speed. His self-control and defense were unprecedentedly important. Any mistake at this time will cause some terrible consequences.

Then an “accident” happened.

Through his slender, silky connection to the material world, Thira saw the elder Rosen of the Star of Glory suddenly flying.

He shouted something, but no one could hear it.

This mighty warrior leaped from the tower, then stood up unscathed, and then dashed all the way through the battlefield where humans and Oak broke out, along the edge of the fire net, and rushed toward the storm.

Some kind of energy surrounded him and became stronger, but it also allowed his limbs to begin to expand uncontrollably.

At this time Thira finally sensed that Rosen responded to a command that forced the existence of the thin curtain of the material world, and that existence was not easy to be angry because it could not appear.

The running Rosen suddenly grew a lot of nodules, and part of the energy gathered by the storm hit his body.

His body changed completely with the light.

It grows and transforms into a huge monster, its limbs gleaming, and the surrounding stones are blown into flames.

Once the body of Rosen, his feet turned into animal hoofs. The organ on the head was left with a large mouth full of teeth and a horn nearly half a meter high. The muscles swelled like marble and smeared thick. Bloody ~www.mtlnovel.com~ The black smoke and the flames of the void scorched its skin and made it miserable

At the same time, a pair of mottled brass armor was cast.

It howled angrily, plunging its hands into the storm, then pulled out a giant blade that was one person tall, and then its left hand dissolved in the storm, turning into a trumpet-like shape.

The two-height monster placed a horn formed by bones and flesh on enough to tear the entire face but close to his mouth, and then blow hard.

Um~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A huge howling sound pierced into the sky, and the only blue that the sky remained in a flash of time disappeared into the blood.

Thira’s face smiled again.

“The Holy Army of the Blood God has arrived.”

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