"Kid! You've got guts!"
Gruumsh forced the words through clenched teeth, one by one. He was furious. He had never imagined his opponent would come knocking before he could launch an attack of his own.
A god's power grew enormously within his own realm, bolstered by the plane it occupied.
In a sense, that realm was both his home and his fortress.
Unless there was an overwhelming difference in divine power, no god would willingly enter a hostile god's realm. That was practically suicide.
Madmen like Cyric were exceptions, of course.
Thrall's challenge was like a lightweight fighter showing up at a heavyweight world champion's front door to pick a fight.
Win or lose, the act alone was enough to disgrace the chief god of the Orcs and make him a laughingstock among the gods.
Gruumsh's hatred for the challenger had already reached its limit.
If the lack of any move from Raymond had not left him uneasy, he would have charged in, torn Thrall apart, and displayed his remains where every enemy could see them.
But after being burned several times before, Gruumsh was most wary when victory looked effortless. He feared stepping into another carefully laid trap.
Raymond the Archdevil had earned a reputation. His actions over the years had been dug up and studied again and again, leading to a startling conclusion.
Every operation he undertook struck from two directions at once.
On one side, he applied strategic pressure until his enemies made mistakes or exposed an opening, then pursued them without mercy.
On the other, he undermined them from within, using bribes, provocation, and division to breed conflict until they could no longer resist.
Most importantly, whenever Raymond personally offered someone terms, they almost always accepted.
His lies were built entirely from carefully selected truths. Neither