Orc Tyrant

At this moment, he has waited a whole life.

The chains of destiny were tightly twisted together at this precious point in time, and his existence continued for this moment.

From the heavy work that killed his mother, to the serious accident that took away his father, to passing the gate of the orphanage, where he was raised enough to work in the mine, the tide of luck has been ruthlessly He pushed my destiny.

Today will be the day when he has the same origin with God.

This is not lazy self-puffing, nor is it crazy exaggeration.

When he was a child, he knew that he was destined to be great. This can be seen from the fact that he always runs faster than the nanny in the orphanage, and is always bigger and stronger than the children of the same age.

It can be seen from those indifferent people that he did not shed a tear when they put his parents in the cold soil, and it can be seen from the fact that when he was nine years old, he had done away with his main competitor in the Games.

Even the way he handled the corpse—throwing the corpse into the well, which made it look like an accident, also heralded his greatness.

When the holy light of the gods was spread in the town where he was born, his greatness was finally recognized.

The flames emerged from the mist with thousands of followers of cultists, beasts, and even more powerful blood gods like a torrential rain.

Villages and farms fell under their fierce attack, and the atrocities they committed made his blood boil.

They peeled off their victims to make flags, and decorated their altars with half-dead prisoners of war.

After the remote village was razed to the ground, they turned their attention to the small town. He knew that he had to do something to welcome his new owner and celebrate his promotion to their ranks.

So he began to move seriously.

When the first chieftain opened the unlocked door of the orphanage, his gift was ready.

He, Varnarkus, sat on the corpses of one hundred and seventeen people slaughtered in the name of the blood god.

He waited to greet them.

One of the new master's deputy, a strong barbarian who embeds a hook in the meat as a decoration, was very angry.

Because this humble species has robbed them of their rewards—the pure and innocent souls that can be used to sacrifice to their masters, or the labor that can be invested in the transformation of the base area.

So he aimed his weapon at this thin young man, wanting to pay for it with his life.

But his new owner knew the young man's potential, and after seeing all this, he pierced the deputy with his huge hooked saber.

Varnakus smiled when his broken halves fell to the ground messily, and his master and the rest of the people laughed likewise, reveling for more bloodshed.

The body of this deputy was picked up by the "ex" comrades, and the axe was given to him by the master.

Although this weapon is crude and cruel, it is still a much more efficient killing tool than the hatchet used to kill the orphans and grandmothers that Varnarkus had used before.

Under the sweep of the **** predators, his head count will greatly increase in the coming days.

When the plundering operation finally ended, Varnakus was taken back to a hidden base, where they could avoid being spotted by the doglegs of the Kaimon Church and various bounty hunters.

After stopping the external attack, the leaders began to kill each other to satisfy the still unsolved desire for war.

Over time, in order to attract the attention of higher levels, frequent battles broke out among the former allies of the cult.

Their ranks swelled rapidly after the war, because the heads of the three cults were killed by his new master, and their men were organized into new tribes.

At that time, the tribe where Varnakus belonged took refuge in a well-known and chosen lord, and boarded the ferry to the Republic of New California.

Day after day, month after month, year after year.

From one battlefield to another, in a strange land, he kills in the name of the Lord God.

The more he respects the master of darkness, the higher he knows his status in the eyes of God.

The changes that had been imposed on him were subtle at first, but became more intense later.

His face became more like a beast, and it was more in line with the power of destruction.

The gap in the battle became like torture. His only purpose was to kill in the name of the blood god. He had already embarked on a path that could not be deviated from.

He, like other devout believers, suffers from lack of oxygen during periods of fighting.

The New California Republic was also aware of their actions, a large-scale encirclement and suppression began, and the veteran believers who landed first suffered heavy losses, and they had to hibernate because of this.

But for the followers of the Snow God, the war will not end, so melee broke out among them.

A group of like-minded guys gathered around Varnarkus to form a new faction.

A sect that they had compiled before saw killing as art, something that represents beauty and creativity, and they found Varnacus to be very attractive.

After they joined, Varnakus's power in the battle gang greatly increased, and as the master's capable man, he also devoted himself to more zealous massacres.

They slaughtered like there was no tomorrow. It was glorious, so glorious that they got the attention of a new master.

The corpse blasphemer, Molière.

But Moras was not keen on plundering operations, he made it clear that he had other important things to do.

Factions that want to continue plundering can find their own way out, and those who want to fight under him will not refuse.

The blasphemer has a terrible reputation as a bloodthirsty butcher, and he is always looking forward to the next killing, which impressed Varnakus.

Unfortunately, his former master didn't think so.

So when his corpse slipped from the Varnacus axe, his eyes looked at his once capable man in frustration.

"We were destined to be great, Varnacus."

This was the last word he burst from his blood-stained teeth, and he was already dead when the other party answered.

"And I still bear this destiny."

Varnacus firmly believes in this.

until……

"Waaaaaaaaaagh!!!"

The special warfare boys rushed into the corridor, Ur's roar echoed in the air.

The two guards were killed before they could see the enemy's face. They ran into the door without hesitation, and the steel double-opening door naturally couldn't withstand the double impact of two strong Oukes, and fell to the ground in an instant.

"Hand in the gun and kill!"

Hagrid roared and rushed in, directly raised the big gun and started shooting.

Behind him, the special warfare boys shot in and filed in, appearing orderly.

But Ur frowned.

He couldn't think of it. Behind the gate, there was a huge underground space. Inside, there were pillars pouring out of bones. Eight huge brass vessels were placed on the ground with boiling blood. These vessels were huge enough. Let them take a swim inside.

And in the middle, is a huge blood pool, in the middle of the blood pool is piled up a large number of pale dead bodies, forming a twisted island, some guys who look like people are standing on the island.

When Koresh saw all this, his eyes popped out.

He knows this is a big deal.

This is by no means an ordinary altar, at least at the level of the altar, and according to his understanding of blood worship, every guardian of the altar is not a small role...

Varnakus was standing on an island where corpses had piled up, holding a dying woman's hair in one hand, and he had just cut her throat.

When the bullet flew by him, he didn't blink his eyes, knowing that he had spotted Koresh.

"Very well, the **** of the Wendigo Church have started to work with Ouke. How surprising it is."

The roar of the altar guard was full of disgust, surprise, and disappointment.