"WAAAGGHHHH~~~~!"
The small green figure came hurtling through the air like a living cannonball.
From prior knowledge, Li Ming instantly identified the creature as one of the lowest of the low among the orks—
a Grot.
Grots were the bottom rung of ork society, pitiful creatures beaten, killed, or eaten for sport by their larger kin. In wartime they served as ammunition, cannon fodder, or even seeds—planted in the ground to grow more orks.
Their usefulness was so perverse and widespread that "tragedy" was the only word that truly fit their existence.
As the incoming grot flew closer, Li Ming wasted no time. He lashed out with a roundhouse kick.
The armor of Oma Zi-O amplified his strike. Even though it wasn't his full strength, the blow still carried over two hundred tons of force.
The grot's chest collapsed instantly. His organs and shattered bones erupted out of his back in a crimson spray that arced a hundred meters through the air like a fountain.
But beneath the helmet, Li Ming's expression turned grim.
That single kick had told him everything: the creature's body was tougher than an adult elephant's.
Condense an elephant's power into a frame less than a meter tall, and you had something stronger than many of the Gurongi he had once faced.
Which meant even at point-blank range, conventional weapons like shotguns might not be enough to deal with this "bottom-tier" ork.
And if this was the weakest…
Then the rest—the true warriors—would be monsters.
Monsters at least on par with Captain America, armed with bizarre technology that could hammer together starships.
The realization made him swear under his breath.
"Dogshit…"
Without hesitation, he deployed his defensive barrier, intercepting the next wave of ork attacks.
The armor of Oma Zi-O was already thousands of times harder than steel, impervious to nearly all modern weapons. But Li Ming had no intention of testing it against ork contraptions—impossible engines of "belief" that could, by sheer nonsense, punch through battleship armor.
Besides the armor, he also possessed the powers of causality manipulation, telekinesis, and time-space control. In his original world, those abilities made him virtually invincible—unless he ran into anomalies like God.
But this was different. This was, almost certainly, the universe of Warhammer 40k.
And he remembered the lore: the Chaos Gods here were beings beyond time and fate themselves. Tzeentch in particular was worshiped as the God of Time, of Space, of Destiny.
If he recklessly flaunted his powers, he would draw their gaze.
And then… it would be over for him.
What was worse, Oma Zi-O's time-space abilities had a prerequisite: they only functioned once he fully adapted to the rules of the world he was in. Like trying to use the key to your own front door on someone else's house—it simply wouldn't work.
As a newcomer, unless he wanted to risk an uncontrolled trip to the end of time, he had best avoid using them.
Which left him only one option.
He would have to brawl—fist to fist—against thousands of orks.
---
Above the battlefield, within a pocket of extradimensional space, Orsaga looked on casually, licking chocolate ice cream from his hand.
As a former system user himself, he immediately noticed the presence within Li Ming.
"A system-bearer, eh… still just another system brat."
He scratched his head, unimpressed by the chaotic melee below. With a snap of his fingers, he summoned a figure beside him.
A humanoid metal being, three meters tall, its surface laced with pulsing vein-like ridges.
It was a Fallen Machine, once of the Human Federation, now transformed through ages of corruption. After undergoing the Demonic Ascension Ritual, it had become a half-daemon, half-machine Daemon Prince—a being equivalent in rank to a Greater Daemon of the Warp.
Daemon Princes were not born of the Warp itself, but elevated outsiders, ascended through mass sacrifice or tasks completed to earn the direct favor of a Chaos God.
Greater Daemons, by contrast, were pure Warp entities who rose to higher status by their own nature.
In essence, there was no absolute hierarchy between the two.
The creature—this Fallen Prince—materialized, and upon recognizing Orsaga, dropped to one knee, bowing his head with absolute devotion.
"My lord, what are your commands?"
Orsaga barely acknowledged the gesture. He pointed down toward Li Ming, his voice flat.
"Kill him. Use your current body. Then bring me his corpse."
The Daemon Prince, named Wagner, cast a sidelong glance at the mortal below.
"As you will, my lord. I shall return shortly."
Without hesitation, without question, he departed to carry out the order.
Orsaga leaned back in the throne he conjured for himself, amused.
'One of my lesser Princes, not even using his main body. That should be just about fair…'
He intended to see what this new "system host" was truly capable of.
---
As for Wagner's rank: among Orsaga's legion of Daemon Princes and Greater Daemons, he was considered insignificant—unworthy of the six great tiers.
Orsaga, as a Chaos God, had long since expanded his legions beyond their humble beginnings.
Now, besides the Eldrazi under their three great Overlords, his forces included countless Warp creatures and devotees from every corner of existence.
They were organized into six great tiers of power, each reflecting Orsaga's sacred number: 6.
Each legion was led by a commander, a Greater Daemon or Daemon Prince of the First Tier.
Beneath each commander were six lieutenants, forming the Second Tier—a total of thirty-six.
Each lieutenant commanded six subordinates of the Third Tier.
And so the hierarchy multiplied sixfold with each step downward, until it reached the Sixth Tier.
This structure was not arbitrary—it embodied Orsaga's divine symbol, the sacred number six.
Those who earned places within these tiers received greater blessings of Orsaga's power.
Other Chaos Gods likewise structured their armies around their own sacred numbers.
As for outliers like Wagner—Daemon Princes not counted among the six tiers—they were simply "unranked."
There were countless such beings, drawn from realspace and myriad lesser universes, innumerable in number.
Only those who clawed their way into the Six Great Tiers could be said to truly "matter."
..
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