Chapter 637: The Mad Green-Skinned
On the towering peak of a colossal mountain, the Red Dragon lounged lazily within a cavern, its massive form nearly filling the entire chamber, radiating an overwhelming and oppressive pressure.
"Ghuush above..." Nur was utterly stunned. He had never seen such a colossal Dragon—even the despised Ancient Gold Dragon paled into insignificance before this Emperor of the Ashen Flame.
As if sensing the arrival of visitors, the Red Dragon slowly opened its eyes and began to rise from the cavern floor. Crimson scales scraped against the rocky walls with a grinding crack-crack, debris rained from the ceiling, and the entire mountain groaned beneath the weight of its movement—each motion threatening to trigger a cataclysmic landslide.
The Dragon extended its massive head, towering over the Ogres with an overwhelming height, its molten lava-like eyes blazing with flickering flame-light. Its broad wings unfurled slowly behind it, casting a vast shadow that swallowed the entire group, plunging them into darkness.
"Father God in heaven..."
"This... this can't be real..."
Under the Dragon’s terrifying aura of intimidation, half the Ogre regiment collapsed unconscious, foaming at the mouth, their bodies convulsing. The other half dropped to their knees one by one, burying their heads in the dirt, their minds shattered, clinging only to the last remnants of willpower.
Even Nur—himself a warrior of great pride—fell to his knees with a thud, forehead pressed against the dusty ground. His blood surged through his veins, his heart hammering so violently it felt like it might burst from his chest.
No wonder the Emperor of the Ashen Flame had conquered the Northern Aether! Such power... Even Batu, the legendary chieftain of old, could never have matched this beast.
If they could ally with such a being, what would the cursed Gold Dragon matter? What of the King of the Dwarves? Even Aivendeldan—renowned for its unyielding fortresses—would crumble like dust before this titan.
In an instant, fear, awe, and exhilaration swirled within Nur’s heart. The dream of Batu’s revenge. The glorious future of conquering the High Mountain Kingdom—now seemed within reach.
Gathering every ounce of courage, the Ogre warrior forced himself to speak, stammering under the weight of terror:
"R-Recognition, Your Majesty... We are envoys of the Crimson Blood Tribe. We have heard of your conquest of Ester, and bring greetings from Great Chieftain Soro."
Kai Xiusu parted his lips into a fierce grin, and spoke slowly, voice like molten iron:
"Guests from the plains. There is no need to fear. And certainly no need to tense. After all... I have no intention of devouring you whole."
"Whew... whew..."
The oppressive aura lifted abruptly. The Ogres gasped for air, their bodies trembling as they finally clawed their way back from the brink of panic.
Nur forced a fawning smile across his grotesque, fanged face, dredging up every crude, hyperbolic phrase from Ogre poetry he could recall:
"Your Majesty, Your form is greater than mountains, Your aura broader than the steppe! We are not afraid—only awestruck by Your might! Only now, seeing Your glorious presence, do we understand how You conquered the Northern Aether!"
Having paid his tribute, the Ogres lowered their heads again, pressing their foreheads into the dirt, hearts pounding, awaiting the Emperor’s next words.
They knew well enough: unlike the Metal Dragon, the Five-Colored Dragons were all embodiments of evil. And the Red Dragon, in particular, was a tyrant of unpredictable wrath. Who could say whether a single misstep might provoke his fury?
A thunderous voice boomed from above:
"Ogres of the Crimson Blood Tribe... why have you come?"
"To ally with the Empire of Ashen," Nur blurted out quickly.
The Red Dragon’s eyes flickered—clearly, this had been anticipated. He repeated the words softly:
"Alliance?"
"Yes, Your Majesty!" Nur lifted his head, voice trembling with excitement. "Your Empire has just conquered the Northern Aether Plain. Your military might is unmatched. Your victories are legendary. The next logical step—surely—must be the Blackstone Mountains, the High Mountain Dwarf Kingdom! There lie rich mineral veins, and countless Dwarf artisans capable of forging masterful weapons and gear!"
Kai Xiusu cut him off before he could finish:
"Conquering the High Mountain Dwarf Kingdom is indeed a sound plan. But tell me—why should the Empire of Ashen, already so powerful, need to ally with you?"
Nur froze. He hadn’t expected such a response. He paused, scrambling for words, flustered:
"We Ogres have fought the Dwarves for millennia. We’ve stormed Aivendeldan again and again. We know their strengths, their weaknesses—we are the Empire’s perfect allies!"
Again, Kai Xiusu interrupted:
"Yet I’ve heard tell you’ve never achieved a single armored victory. Just months ago, you were utterly annihilated—and fled north in disgrace."
"No, Your Majesty, we merely—"
The Red Dragon lowered his head, exhaling a scorching plume of sulfur-scented white smoke, and grinned fiercely:
"Such failures... how dare you speak of alliance with the Empire?"
Boom—
Dust exploded, debris flew, the earth trembled beneath their feet.
The oppressive aura surged once more, crushing down on the Ogres’ shoulders. The ground sank beneath their knees, forming shallow pits. Several more collapsed unconscious.
"No..." Nur whispered, his vision blurring. The dream of conquering Aivendeldan, of avenging Batu—cracked and shattered in his mind.
No. He had to convince this Emperor. He had to change the fate of his people, break the curse of centuries of suffering!
With a shudder, Nur lifted his head, his body trembling violently. He forced himself upright, voice hoarse, blood trickling from his lips:
"Your Majesty! The Crimson Blood Tribe can provide real value to the Empire!"
Kai Xiusu regarded him coldly, slowly unfurling his vast wings. His tone was mocking, almost curious:
"From my eyes, you Ogres possess neither strong bodies nor proper gear. Aside from a stubborn will to survive, you are utterly worthless. I wonder... what is it that gives you such confidence?"
Remember Soro’s words, Nur thought. If he refuses alliance—or seeks to erase us—then show him the true strength of the Ogres. Show him the Gift of Father God Ghuush.
He must make this Red Dragon see the Ogres. Respect them. Fulfill the ancient dream of destroying the High Mountain Dwarves.
With that, Nur pulled a crude clay jar—etched with rugged runes—from his fur pouch. He placed it to his lips.
Inside, a thick, black liquid pulsed, reeking of decay and iron. Its darkness was so deep it seemed to absorb all light. Soro had discovered it in the Bindler River and named it Blood of Gush—a divine gift from Father God, reserved only for the bravest among them.
"Ogre strength comes from our ancestors... from the mighty Father God Ghuush!"
Nur’s voice rang out like a war horn.
He opened his mouth wide—and the black liquid surged in like a ravenous beast, flooding his throat.
"Is this...?" Kai Xiusu watched, unmoving. A familiar scent—ancient, chaotic—drifted from the liquid.
Bottomless Abyss. Chaos. Distortion.
The energy within was eerily similar to the Abyss, yet mixed with something strange, alien. Fascinating.
This wasn’t just the Abyss. There was something else—something hidden, something old.
Sure enough, the moment the Blood of Gush touched his blood, the transformation began.
The Ogre’s body swelled visibly, muscles bulging, skin thickening. Fangs sprouted and lengthened. But the change was unnatural—like a fungus spreading through living tissue. Threads of fungal mycelium and moss-like growths erupted across his body, merging, reorganizing, forming new flesh, new skin.
"WAAAGH—"
The Ogre roared—a guttural, broken cry—his eyes blazing with wild red light. His frame, once under two meters, now stretched to over three, thick with corded muscle.
"Emperor... now... are we worthy to form an alliance?"
Nur grinned, fangs bared, drool—thick and black—dripping from his jaw, stinking of decay.
Kai Xiusu said nothing. He simply stared, appraising the mutated beast as if it were a rare specimen in a laboratory.
"This is the Gift of Ghuush?"
The green skin seemed to shimmer faintly—photosynthesizing, drawing energy from the air. The body exuded a fine mist of green spores. An unstable, reality-warping field pulsed around him.
"Hmph. How... interesting. A life force unlike any other."
To Kai Xiusu, this new creature—uglier, more bestial, with jagged fangs and a fungal body—was no longer just an Ogre. It was a grotesque fusion of animal and fungus, body and spirit, twisted into something entirely new.
No response.
The Ogre growled, enraged:
"Emperor of the Ashen Flame! We have shown you our power! Why refuse alliance?!"
"Power?" The Red Dragon sneered, flaring his wings. A hurricane-force wind tore through the cavern, sending dust and debris flying. He descended—fifty meters of scaled majesty looming over the transformed Ogre.
Even this monstrous form looked like an ant beneath the Dragon’s shadow.
The Ogre strained against the wind, his eyes wide, staring up at the colossal silhouette—finally realizing his arrogance had been unforgivable.
Even Batu, the chosen of Father God, could not stand against this Dragon. What chance did he have?
"In the face of true power, you are nothing! You are not allies. You are experiments for the Empire!"
Kai Xiusu roared, extending a clawed hand.
A glowing, claw-shaped force field materialized in midair—solid, real. It seized the three-meter-tall Ogres, lifting him into the air. With a casual flick, the Dragon crushed the unconscious Ogres beneath his foot, turning them into pulp.
Nur shrieked, writhing in the air, roaring with desperation:
"Emperor of the Ashen Flame! Spare me! We are descendants of the One-Eyed God Ghuush! Will you not fear the wrath of Father God?!"
The Dragon laughed—a low, chilling sound.
"Would an Orcish deity care about a single Ogre’s life? And now... are you even Ogre anymore?"
With a tightening grip, Kai Xiusu crushed the creature. The green skin burst like rotten fruit, spraying a thick, spore-laden black blood across the cavern.
"WAAAGH!"
The Ogre screamed again, unleashing a wild, chaotic energy field in a final, futile attempt to disrupt the claw strike.
But Kai Xiusu was a Legendary Sorcerer, a being beyond mere spells. Even a zero-level claw strike was beyond this creature’s reach.
Crack!
The explosion was sharp, brutal. The Ogre exploded midair, torn apart.
Nur’s dream—his vision of conquering Aivendeldan, of avenging Batu—dissolved with his final breath.
Green blood, fragments of flesh, severed limbs—scattered across the ground.
Kai Xiusu stared, surprised.
The spores in the corpse began to root into the soil, spreading rapidly, feeding greedily on the earth and air.
If unchecked, they would spawn mushroom-like Ogres—hundreds, even thousands, from a single corpse.
"They’re reproducing," Kai Xiusu murmured, watching the fragments sprout. "Frightening reproductive capacity. No wonder past Ogres caused the 'Green Skin Plague'—a scourge that razed entire kingdoms."
He exhaled a jet of Dragon Flame, reducing the corpse to ash. The spores were neutralized.
With a gentle flick of his claw, he collected the remaining black liquid and green flesh fragments, storing them in an enchanted, sealed dimensional sack.
"Better send this to Lanpu. Let the Empire’s Technology Department study it."
Kai Xiusu nodded in satisfaction.
Far away, hundreds of miles distant, the seven Lanpu—deep in paperwork—had no idea they were about to gain a new research project: The Study of Mutated Ogres.
---
In the northern Ugo Great Plain, Paris Valley.
In the shadow of the cliffs, an Ogre knelt, reporting:
"Soro Lord... Nur and the others have been missing for days. Our Shaman’s divination confirms... they are likely all dead."
"I know," the towering figure rose slowly from a throne of green-veined bones. His form was immense—six meters tall, a living mountain of green flesh. A cruel, triumphant smile split his face.
"Good. We no longer need allies. The Crimson Blood Tribe is strong enough on its own."
He was Soro Blooddrinker, the current Chieftain of the Crimson Blood Tribe.
But now, he was even greater than the last Chieftain—Batu Skullcrusher. More massive. More monstrous. The very image of raw, terrifying power.
Soro raised his bone spear, roaring:
"Under the protection and blessing of Father God Ghuush, the mighty Ogres shall conquer the entire world!"
"WAAAGH!"
Before him, a sea of Ogres surged, thousands strong, their weapons raised, their voices a thunderous wave of frenzy.
And deep in the valley’s damp, shadowed depths, enormous green mushrooms sprouted—thick, clustered, spreading like a creeping tide, devouring the land.
(End of Chapter)
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