"Hahaha! Die, human scum!" An Orc Elite roared, lunging with a crude iron saber at Gerald's bare chest with the intent to kill.
Gerald stood still, watching as the blade struck his exposed flesh and then slid off without leaving a mark. Without being deterred, the beast attempted to strike again while roaring with mad laughter.
With a simple movement, that appeared as if it happened in an instant, to the Orc, Gerald, caught the blade, pinching it between his thumb and index finger, before it could touch his chest again. He held it there, gently moving it side to side as his opponent struggled to keep hold. Then, with a gentle squeeze, the blade shattered. A small iron shard remained in his grasp.
"Hah…?"
Before the Elite even knew what had happened, the flicked metal piece pierced his skull like a bullet fired from a high-caliber rifle. His head turned to pink mist in an instant.
[Hmm. Disappointing.] Gerald murmured, wiping his peck where the blade had struck him. [Even with all my defenses at zero, they cannot hurt me. Not with these trashy weapons anyway.]
[And to think Orcs used to be tough opponents once.] He combed his hair with his fingers and sighed. [Oh, how the times have changed.]
He closed his eyes and leaned back, slowly breathing in through his nose, before he opened his eyes again. [Even the Soul is worthless. I'll need at least a million to advance. Maybe more? I can already see it. It's going to be a long road, so I'd better get started early. Right, guys?] He turned, grinning at the army of Orcs who just watched him kill their commander.
"He… He's bluffing!" One of them shouted. "There is no way someone that tiny can be so strong!"
[Tiny?] Gerald looked at himself, at his scrawny arms without muscle, and then chuckled. [Oh, yeah… How fun is it for a grown man to lose to a child?]
"Get him!" The furred humanoid beasts roared and descended upon the tiny shape-shifter like a flood.
Gerald clenched his tiny fists and smiled. [Oh, yeah… Come get some.]
The first opponent came in hot, swinging his sword, and Gerald ducked under the swing and punched out in retaliation. It was a slow, gentle punch. From his perspective, anyway. For the Orc, it was like getting blasted by a cannon point-blank.
The iron chestplate he wore shattered into a thousand pieces, and the body behind it was torn apart without resistance as if it were made of soft jello and not flesh and bone.
The second punch was thrown, reaping life much like the first one. Then Gerald spun around for fun, waving his hand and creating a gale. The pressure wave slammed into the Orc warriors like a solid wall, crumpling their bodies and armor as if it were paper. The rocks and sand picked up and carried by the wind became bullets seeking out lives.
A carnage of blood and gore erupted in the desert, accompanied by the dying wails of old enemies that ended just as fast as they began.
Gerald stomped on the ground, breaking rocks, and kicked them at the Orc army. None of their hastily conjured magic or metal armor was able to stop this simple barrage of pure kinetic power. He didn't use a drop of Qi, instead relying purely on his physical prowess. To think he once needed to use all of his brainpower and magic to bring these beasts down, yet barely a decade later, he could crush hundreds of them in his sleep. Hell, he probably could go to sleep with all of them present, and they couldn't kill him even if they tried.
Even as he lowered his defenses to the absolute minimum, so low that it was impossible to go any lower, they still couldn't hurt him. He was just going through the motions, slaughtering them without resistance.
But fighting against weak opponents was boring. It was something that had to be done since they were the invaders, a pest on their lands, but he did not enjoy it. It was like pulling weeds from a garden. A mindless, yet necessary task.
Fighting the Orcs, old memories came to the surface. Memories of simpler times when he was still weak and clueless of the ways of the world.
[Stone Bolts.] He whispered the words of his magic quietly. The Mortal magic. The weakest of the weak. Using the barest minimum of energy. The magic he created out of necessity while he was still weak.
The stone ground around him cracked, shards of stone breaking apart and forming forearm-length spikes that were no thicker than a carrot. Actually, ignoring the color, they quite resembled a carrot too. A stone carrot. And there were thousands of them. Tens of thousands. Created in a fraction of a second.
The Orc army froze, the warriors' spirit having left their bodies. They stood, rooted in place, watching as the countless stone shards slowly spun around their enemy, like the silent servants of death itself.
None of them had the energy to fight anymore. Not really. The result was already predetermined, so why bother?
Gerald gave them one last look and then snapped his fingers.
They died. All of them. Instantly. Without exception. Every single one, pierced by countless stone projectiles, accelerated from a standstill to supersonic speeds in an instant. They never stood a chance.
The Souls of hundreds were absorbed and devoured, yet still amounted to nothing compared to even an early Spirit Realm Soul. To say the difference was as vast as the ocean would be an understatement.
Gerald looked around at the scattered corpses, at the broken weapons and armor, and at the ground painted red with blood and gore. He decided that salvaging the remains would not be worth it. Everything was trash.
Their blood would be better left where it was, quenching the thirst of the desert, and their corpses would become a feast for the unfortunate critters calling the wasteland their home. Hopefully, with sufficient death and time, the ocean of sand and stone could flourish.
"Gah!"
As Gerald was enjoying the tranquil atmosphere, a foolish creature's cry disrupted his peace. A Fireball exploded at the back of his head, doing nothing except souring his mood.
He turned around slowly, shooting daggers from his eyes. A frightened Goblin Shaman was standing behind him, half covered by a pile of rocks. Gerald squinted his eyes at the creature that dared to attack him, but then he paused, wondering how he had failed to detect it.
The thing was, he didn't. He detected it clearly, it's just that its power was so pathetically low, that he considered it as one of the critters of the desert. A background noise, if you will.
[How dare you…] He said quietly. The Goblin turned and began to run screaming, yet didn't get far.
Gerald lifted his hand, palm facing the sky. [I outnumber you. I outnumber you all. How dare you spit on my kindness! I spared your life because you were so weak, yet you attack me in turn.]
The Goblin Shaman screeched incomprehensible words and began lobbing Fireballs at him in a panic.
[Have it your way, little one. I shall grant you death, you so desire.] Magic spread from Gerald, and a short scream from the Goblin later, the creature turned to dust, silenced forever, its Essence extracted in its entirety.
A small sphere formed above his hand, quickly growing and swirling as his magic spread, draining Essence from the countless corpses.
[I just wanted to have some fun, kill some Orcs…] Gerald murmured. His form began to expand, his size returning back to that of a grown man. [But fine, the gloves are off. It was bound to happen sooner or later anyway. It's best I take this seriously.]
He consumed the Essence, a tiny drop in the vast ocean that was his body. He then spread his awareness wide, a pulse of Spirit Sense detecting a thousand foreign lifeforms just in his vicinity. All ripe and ready for the taking.
The hunt was on.
[Time to reap the harvest.]