Infinite Range: The Sniper Mage

[Angel Race – Wise Angel – Misius: Level 100]

[God-Tier Entity]

[HP: 1.1 billion / 1.6 billion]

[Attack: 100,000 / 150,000]

[Critical Rate: 100%]

[Abilities: Master of Space Magic, God-Tier Sword Skills, Divine Body Domination]

[Divine Law: Spatial Ripple]

[Currently descended in soul form, combat strength partially weakened]

“A spatial God-tier magic swordsman.”

Orson’s face darkened. Even though Misius had only descended into Infinite Dimensions in soul form, his power remained terrifying — enough to rival the kings among the high-ranking Heaven Demons. Among the Trial survivors, such beings were called: Nation-Destroying Gods.

“My child, why do you weep? Do you repent for your failure?”

Misius’ face was flawless, his silver armor radiant and androgynous. His voice was calm and benevolent as he questioned Jenonis, radiating an eerie kind of holy compassion.

“Lord Wise Angel, I am repenting at every moment. Upon returning, I am willing to accept any punishment,” Jenonis answered humbly. Though bitter, he understood that the moment Misius descended, his reign over Light Dragon Empire was over.

“I have a teleportation scroll,” Alexander whispered, initiating a trade request with Orson, his expression tense.

“Even you, Sword God, are considering fleeing now?” Orson glanced at him coolly.

Alexander paled. Even with a trump card in hand, the overwhelming presence of this six-winged angel made every cell in his body scream in terror. He was convinced that he’d be dead before his ace could even take effect.

A true god descended upon the battlefield, moving through the void with seemingly slow yet absolute speed, leaving spatial ripples in his wake.

“Strange… you all carry his scent,” Misius’ starlit eyes swept over them, lingering not only on Orson but on Alexander too.

“There’s a foul stench in your blood, one that’s lingered for thousands of years. I dislike it,” Misius frowned slightly at Alexander, his mere gaze pressing down like Mount Tai. Alexander staggered backward, his knees trembling uncontrollably.

The fear came from the soul, beyond any game mechanic’s influence. Inside his gaming pod, Alexander’s blood boiled, his muscles convulsed, his heart rate spiked to dangerous levels, every fiber of his being screaming as if it were about to be ripped apart.

“You dare threaten my friend?” Orson’s voice boomed like thunder as the Crimson Lizard King roared furiously.

Death Dragon Breath!

Misius’ expression turned cold. Even for a God-tier angel, he wouldn’t underestimate a Celestial Winged Dragon.

“Spatial Refraction.”

With a wave of his hand, Misius conjured a swirling vortex that bent space itself. The Death Dragon Breath veered off its course, exploding harmlessly in the sky.

Seeing his attack deflected, Orson didn’t push further. Instead, he grabbed the near-collapsing Alexander by the collar and growled, “He’s a player too. Just one that’s been… modified by a higher being.”

“Player…” Alexander’s eyes shook violently.

With visible disdain, Orson continued, “A player from the previous era of the game. You might as well call them the gods’ lapdogs.”

Alexander inhaled sharply. It was unimaginable that such beings—so powerful they seemed untouchable—were once players like them. This level of power seemed utterly unreachable.

“You are indeed unique, puppet of BlazeKing’s legacy,” Misius smiled faintly. “You managed to temporarily slip past the Eye of God and are trying to rewrite the rules of this world. Your ambition is admirable.”

The angel’s smile grew strange and sinister. “But never forget: you are still a tool—just like us. Only the function differs.”

“You’re mistaken,” Orson shrugged indifferently as his smile slowly faded. “We have nothing in common.”

“I honestly expected Xinala the Seraph to show up, but instead, it’s you—a mere errand boy. Two options: leave or die.”

“Errand boy?!” Misius burst into laughter, his voice shaking the heavens. “Even BlazeKing once paid me, Misius the Great, due respect. And yet his successor dares call me that?”

The sealed kings below shivered at the voice, staring up in awe.

“A miracle! The God has answered the prayers of His faithful! The Angel God Himself has descended!”

“The Holy Light Church shall forever praise His grace!”

“The day of divine descent marks the doom of heresy!”

Tens of thousands of believers screamed in ecstasy. Even though they were sealed and on the brink of defeat, their fanaticism only grew more intense in the face of their god’s arrival.

“Seriously, this is real? Actual gods?” Bradley muttered, glancing at Orson for instructions.

Orson shook his head. A God-tier opponent at level 100 wasn’t something you could handle just by ganging up.

Misius’ face grew more hostile. “Celestial Winged Dragons… humans… what a curious alliance. You’re always setting fires at the worst possible moments. I dislike that.”

“In my holy domain, no one may ignite wildfires of rebellion!” Misius roared.

The night sky lit up in a blazing pillar of light. His six snowy wings spread wide as two elemental swords materialized in his hands.

“Surrender your campaign against Light Dragon Empire and divert your forces to guard the unstable world anchors. Do so, and I may spare your life!”

His voice sharpened as he continued, “You have two breaths to decide.”

As his elemental swords sliced the air, strange apparitions filled the sky — dragon souls weeping, Heaven Demons howling, trial victims singing their death songs. The gruesome yet magnificent spectacle displayed his past conquests—beings who had all fallen to his blade.

Orson’s heart grew heavy. There was no doubt: players who had been transformed into God-tier NPCs were among the most elite from the Era of Immortals. They weren’t like the rigid, predictable normal NPCs; these were apex players once, supreme masters of battle and experience.

“Breaking the rules is difficult,” Orson sighed. These traitors may have turned their backs on players, but in a way, they were also victors of their era.

“This is insane. What’s even the point of fighting anymore?”

“This game’s so broken. If NPCs can just call for divine backup, we’re screwed. Refund! I quit!”

“Turns out the NPCs are the real cheaters. Hilarious.”

The livestream chat exploded with rage. Everyone knew Misius was completely beyond the game’s normal boundaries. Fighting him was like challenging the developers themselves.

“Will you retreat—or not?” Misius demanded, his patience running thin.

But Orson remained perfectly calm. He turned to Alexander and said, “Hand it over. The burden you carry is heavier than you know. Don’t dishonor the legacy of the US!”

Alexander froze. His wariness toward Orson morphed into awe. He finally realized: Orson didn’t need the Ten Overlords of the US—they needed him.

Orson’s eyes blazed, his battle spirit roaring like wildfire as a single word burst from his lips:

“Fight!”

The world stood in awe.

A man who dares to hold up the collapsing heavens—

Here stood one who could hold the sky with a single hand!

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