God Simulator: The Goddesses In The Simulation Are All Real

The atmosphere thickened with tension as Linsley continued, "At this moment, my guns will only harm those who bear the greater sin."

Hearing those words, the villain scoffed, his confidence unshaken. His eyes hardened as he glanced at the hypocritical hero standing across from him.

He knew he wasn't innocent—far from it—but compared to that self-righteous pretender, his sins felt lighter. 'If I were judged against the average wasteborn, I'd die for sure,' he thought. 'But compared to him...'

On the other side, the so-called hero—his facade of calm cracking—began to tremble.

Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, his eyes darting to the ten thousand gleaming black guns hovering ominously in the air. Each one of those bullets held the weight of truth, a power far beyond any excuse or lie.

The hero opened his mouth, desperately trying to salvage his image, to manipulate the crowd into seeing him as the beacon of justice. "This... this is unjust! I've only protected—"

Linsley cut him off with a cold, dismissive glance. "I am the Overlord. My word is the decree of this world. Your title as royalty holds no sway over me."

His voice was calm but heavy with authority. "No one beneath me has the right to talk back."

The hero froze, his attempt to control public opinion crumbling. There was no higher law than an Overlord's decree in the Diviner World.

Without another word, Linsley raised his hand and pulled the trigger.

In that instant, the sky darkened as ten thousand bullets rained down every millisecond, a torrent of blackened power crashing upon the hero and the villain. Each shot blurred into the next, a ceaseless storm that lit the battlefield with bursts of lethal energy.

The villain stood firm, the bullet barrage barely touching him, his sins dwarfed by the hero's far darker deeds.

Though the rain of bullets grazed him, he remained mostly unharmed, feeling the weight of judgment pass over him. He knew it wasn't his righteousness that had spared him, but the fact that the hero's crimes were far greater than his own.

Meanwhile, the hero's screams were drowned out by the relentless storm of bullets. His crimes were too heavy to escape the judgment Linsley had decreed, and as the barrage finally dissipated, the hero's body was reduced to little more than a charred husk amid the wreckage.

The villain, still standing, glanced at the remains of his foe, aware that he had survived only because the hero's sins had outweighed his own.

The stunned crowd dared not make a sound. Wasteborn, inferiors, even the few remaining nobles—all watched in silent awe.

Linsley's judgment was absolute, his display of power a stark reminder of the gap between Overlords and the rest of the world.

Linsley lowered his hand, his expression unreadable as the guns behind him vanished into thin air.

His gaze briefly fell on the villain. "You live, but don't mistake this for mercy. You were spared because your sins were less than his, not because you were innocent."

Before the villain could respond, an overwhelming surge of flux rippled through the air.

The ground trembled violently once more, but this time it wasn't from any quake-based ability—it was pure, overwhelming pressure that seemed to pull the air out of the atmosphere.

The intense force rippled through the streets, sending cracks racing through the pavement, toppling buildings that were already teetering from the previous battle.

The flux pressure was so dense that even the nobles and lesser diviners in the vicinity struggled to breathe, their knees buckling as if the weight of the heavens themselves bore down upon them.

A looming shadow cast itself over the ruins, and from the skies descended a figure cloaked in an aura of arrogance and unshakable authority.

His arrival was almost theatrical—golden robes fluttered with the winds of his descent, glimmering in the sunlight as though each thread had been woven from wealth and status itself.

His long, flowing silver hair swirled around him, creating a regal silhouette, and his sharp, cold eyes scanned the scene beneath him with an expression of pure contempt.

This was no mere Overlord; this was someone accustomed to ruling, not only with his power but with the prestige of his lineage.

The air itself seemed to bow in his presence, rippling with tension as he touched the ground softly, his aura shaking the earth even before his feet had landed.

His face was contorted with fury, but it was not the face of a man grieving a grandson—it was the face of one whose pride had been wounded.

He glanced at the lifeless, scorched remains of the hero—the charred husk that had once been his grandson—with disgust rather than sadness.

For him, the honor and insult to his bloodline mattered far more than the life lost.

His eyes flickered toward Linsley, brimming with contempt, as though Linsley were nothing more than an insect daring to scurry across his path.

"You dare," the Overlord's voice boomed across the wreckage, laced with venom, "lay a hand on my grandson? A mere child like you should know better than to cross the direct line of royalty."

The crowd that had gathered to witness the confrontation could barely stand under the suffocating weight of the Overlord's flux pressure. Even the stronger nobles in the vicinity felt their bones creak, their flux cores trembling under the oppressive force.

Many wasteborn and inferiors had already collapsed, bowing their heads low as if awaiting the mercy of a god. The gap in strength was obvious—this new Overlord was far beyond anything they had seen before.

His flux surged outward in waves, dwarfing the Level 9.1 pressure that Linsley had released earlier. The sheer weight of his Level 9.3 flux was almost unbearable, making the previous battle between the hero and villain seem trivial in comparison.

The force of his presence shattered nearby debris into dust and sent powerful gusts of wind spiraling through the streets.

With a look of self-satisfied arrogance, the Overlord stepped forward, his feet leaving shallow craters in the stone from the intensity of his power. His robes shimmered, reflecting his status as someone untouchable.

His voice rang out again, dripping with condescension, "You think your pitiful Level 9.1 Overlord status makes you my equal? Boy, you have no idea what true power is. I'll teach you what it means to stand against real royalty."