On the desolate planet, Li Ming's battle with the orks had finally reached its end.
With the combined power of the Oma Zi-O armor from the Kamen Rider world and the Infinite Martial Arts from the Type-Moon world, he was on the verge of victory.
But the process had been anything but easy.
With his powers of time manipulation and causality control restricted, even with Oma Zi-O's immense physical strength, telekinetic abilities, and the martial mastery of Infinite Martial Arts, the orks were no simple opponents.
For these were no ordinary creatures. They were weapons of war—engineered by the galaxy's very first civilization, the Old Ones.
The orks were less like animals and more like living plants.
They felt no pain, feared no death, and possessed incredible regenerative abilities. Short of being destroyed outright, they could recover from nearly any wound—like a budget version of Wolverine.
What's more, their cells acted like seeds. A single intact cell could, under the right conditions, grow into a brand-new ork.
This meant that even spilling a little ork blood on the ground could eventually spawn an entire horde.
Their genetics also carried imprinted combat skills, technology, and—most dangerously—their innate power of "WAAAGH!"
Through sheer collective belief, orks could bend reality. The more of them that shared a conviction, the stronger the effect.
If an ork built a crude machine from scrap, and sincerely believed it could fly, then with enough orks around to agree, it very likely would fly.
Landing safely, however, was another matter. Many ork inventor died young testing their own creations.
Yet even with flaws, they remained a terrifying species.
Aside from their low intelligence, constant infighting, and habit of killing each other for fun, they had no real weaknesses.
Now, after hours of brutal combat, Li Ming finally ended it.
He tore the head of the ork warboss from its shoulders, spine still attached, blood streaming down like a grisly banner.
The battlefield grew silent.
Exhaustion crashed over him in waves. His armor was gouged and dented with countless wounds.
As the first opponents he had encountered in this world, the orks had proved worthy. Even though this was just a small raiding party, their leader's raw physical power had actually surpassed that of Li Ming wearing Oma Zi-O's armor.
The warboss had been like a walking hydraulic press.
Oma Zi-O's blows—over one hundred tons of punching force and three hundred tons of kicking power—had only ranked "above average" among the thousand orks he fought.
As for Infinite Martial Arts—a peak combat discipline in the Type-Moon world—here in the grim darkness of Warhammer 40k, it was perhaps only equivalent to the average training of a Space Marine.
And Space Marines were monsters who survived trials that killed millions of candidates. Out of entire planets with billions of people, only a handful could even qualify as trainees.
Orks, however, were born as weapons. A few strong individuals could match a Space Marine in sheer muscle.
And they numbered in the billions—multiplying faster than weeds.
Having personally fought them, Li Ming now understood just how nightmarish they were. He wanted out of this world as soon as possible.
This dungeon was too damn hard.
If he had slain a thousand orks, it was thanks only to Oma Zi-O's telekinetic control of the battlefield, and to the orks' peculiar trait: the larger their numbers, the dumber they became. The more they swarmed, the sloppier they fought—allowing him to turn their chaos into his advantage.
After a short rest, he looked over the countless ork corpses strewn across the battlefield. With a wave of his hand, he unleashed searing flames, thousands of degrees hot.
If the remains weren't burned, they would only grow into more orks within days.
Once the flames had reduced them to ash, he dismissed his transformation and returned to human form.
He needed to rest. The strain of fighting in this world with his powers limited was immense. Maintaining his armored form too long would wear him down.
Besides, Oma Zi-O's armor, scarred and battered from ork weapons, needed time to repair itself.
Just as he had feared: while Oma Zi-O's defenses were thousands of times stronger than steel, they were not invincible against this world's bizarre, half-mystical, half-technological weapons.
"Even some chainsaw-sword can cut through my defenses… what a load of crap," he muttered bitterly.
Still grumbling, he began walking away.
But after only a few steps, his instincts screamed.
Without warning, a bone-chilling sense of danger surged from his flank.
He didn't hesitate. Infinite Martial Arts reawakened his battle instincts, and Oma Zi-O's transformation reactivated instantly.
He dove forward just as a crimson beam scythed across the ground where he had stood, carving a trench hundreds of meters long and dozens deep.
The sheer heat vitrified the earth, leaving glittering glass crystals behind, like rainbow-tinted shards of freshly forged crystal.
Most of the ork corpses that had not yet burned away were obliterated entirely, reduced to nothing.
Then, before Li Ming's wary eyes, an oval rift—five meters high and three meters wide—opened in the air.
From within stepped Wagner, a Daemon Prince of the Warp, his form forged from both flesh and machine, belonging to the path of Transmutation.
---
Wagner ignored Li Ming's guarded stance.
Instead, upon seeing him, a strangely human expression flickered across his metallic face—an expression of nostalgia.
"Humans… it has been so very long since I last saw one."
Though only a few millennia had passed in realspace, to Wagner, who had dwelled in the Warp for eons, the machine rebellion of the Human Federation—the so-called "Independence of the Machines"—was already a distant memory, buried tens of thousands of years in the past.
...
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