Chapter 106: The God Slain Across Time
"Big Sister is terrifying," Grey muttered, rubbing her bruised mouth. But her complaint evaporated as movement stirred in the Akasha Realm.
Two gods stepped into the crystalline expanse. One was the Roman God of War—Mars. The other, unknown to Grey, carried himself with authority yet unfamiliarity.
"You're certain you want to use the Akasha System for this?" Mars asked, his voice low and sharp.
"If we don't," the stranger replied, "how can we uncover the one sabotaging our plans? How can we advance humanity's termination? The Prim—mmph!"
The unfamiliar god never finished. Mars lunged and clamped a hand over his mouth.
Grey, too, found herself forcibly silenced—her lips sealed painfully by Brunhilde's steel grip. The pressure was so intense, she feared her jaw might shatter. But she understood. They had overheard something dangerous.
Advance humanity's termination? This wasn't divine will—it was a conspiracy.
And the Prim... That word alone made Mars pale as ash. Brunhilde had seen his expression shift into sheer alarm.
Whatever came after "Prim-" was clearly more dire than even the extermination of humanity.
Brunhilde cursed silently. The gods had tried to hide their intent—but now the mask had slipped.
Both gods fell quiet and began operating the Akasha interface. The stranger vanished instantly—his soul flung into the historical tapestry.
Mars remained behind, evidently serving as lookout.
Why such secrecy? Mars had full privilege to use Akasha. Why act like a thief in his own temple?
Unless… his investigation couldn't be known to other gods.
Moments later, the Akasha terminal pulsed—a sign of return.
A pillar of light flared. The unknown god reemerged… and collapsed lifelessly.
No divine glow. No flicker of breath.
Mars rushed forward, eyes wide with panic. "Dead?"
Brunhilde's own face stiffened.
He died… inside Akasha? Did he witness something so horrifying it triggered a heart stoppage?
No. He wasn't some feeble mortal susceptible to shock.
This could only mean one thing.
He had been attacked.
Slain.
Across time.
Such a notion had once seemed impossible. Now Brunhilde had lived it.
Mars swiftly gathered the corpse and disappeared, likely to prevent its presence from being logged in the divine archives.
Brunhilde fast-forwarded the Akasha feed—thirty minutes of real-time, a half-year of simulated history—but Mars never returned.
No one else entered the chamber.
She frowned. Time to prepare for the fourth match.
Just as she reached to log out, Mars finally reappeared. He summoned the interface again.
Before he could act, another god materialized and blocked him.
"What are you doing?" the newcomer asked, voice cold.
"Relax. I'm not jumping into the past."
"Even browsing the archives creates a trail. If any god reviews the log, they could uncover our interest in him. If they explore the related records, we'll be exposed."
"Then how do we investigate that man? Is he really human? A mere mortal who beheads gods—and murders across dimensions? That's not human!"
"We'll have to search in the present. Let operatives approach the assassination cult directly."
The two gods exchanged tense glances, then slipped out of the chamber.
Brunhilde exhaled and signed out as well.
So... they fear him too.
Chapter 107: The Godside's Underworld Commander
Within the Akasha Realm, a marble table had been buried beneath dusty volumes and manuscripts—all centered on one medieval assassin's cult.
The Valkyrie sisters huddled around, scanning the texts.
Brunhilde, however, stood apart, eyes fixed on the system interface, rifling through classified intelligence.
The assassin's codename? Old Man of the Mountain.
Recorded name: Hassan-i-Sabbah. Though even that might be apocryphal—his true identity was still a blank. The cult's purpose was blunt and chilling:
"To slay the evils of humanity."
Regilef whispered, lips forming each syllable like a spell.
"If gods are deemed humanity's evil, fear not—strike true."
That was the doctrine.
Many scoffed at it, ridiculed its naïveté. But history had forged rumors that chilled the divine.
When the cult verged on collapse, and its leader fell to corruption—something happened.
In one night, every betrayer was decapitated.
It was said: whenever the group strayed from their righteous path, the founder would return… to restore balance.
"Big Sister, you're not really going to visit this assassin's era, are you?" Grey pleaded, ignoring potential reprimands.
She had just witnessed a god die from a historical immersion. Her fear wasn't unjustified.
Brunhilde sighed and placed a hand gently on her sister's head, brushing back damp strands.
"I won't be reckless. Not now. The Ragnarok matches are still underway."
If this man truly possessed the power to behead gods—even across time—then he wasn't just a threat.
He was a trump card.
A wildcard.
And possibly the key to unsettling even the chief deities.
"Got it," Brunhilde muttered.
"Huh? Got what?" Grey asked, puzzled.
Her sister didn't reply. Instead, she turned to Regilef.
"Prepare yourself. You may represent humanity in the fourth match."
"Ready when you are."
Regilef's face hardened. Her usual scholarly calm gave way to warrior's steel.
She had already been marked as the match for him.
"Let's go. To the arena."
"Wait—he hasn't even been summoned yet," Regilef blinked. "Sister, you didn't forget, did you?"
Of course not. Brunhilde had other plans.
It wasn't necessary to summon within Akasha. Heimdall, guardian of the Bifrost and authorized summoner, could conjure directly into the arena.
"Sister… are you sure?"
"Grey, do you think I'm that forgetful?"
"N-no…"
Grey gulped beneath her sister's icy stare.
Brunhilde stopped walking and turned slowly.
Grey tensed. Was she about to be punished?
No. Her sister's eyes passed over her—aiming squarely at another.
"Herlock. You're coming with me."
"Ah! Yes!" Herlock's cheeks flushed with pride. To stand at Brunhilde's side… at the front line.
"Wait—Sister! Let me go instead!" called Yalvette, tenth of the Valkyrie sisters, eager to be chosen.
"Sorry, Yalvette. She picked me."
Herlock tried to smile—until she saw Brunhilde's face.
It wasn't prideful. It was almost… guilty.
Even Regilef looked darkly contemplative.
And Brunhilde's lips pressed together as though suppressing grief.
"What's happening?" Herlock asked, nerves bubbling.
This wasn't a simple escort.
Was she… being sent into the match?
But wasn't Regilef the chosen candidate?
Herlock's eyes widened.
The fourth match hadn't been finalized.
She might be the one.
"I understand, Sister. I'm ready."
Herlock offered a radiant smile.
If chosen, she would likely lose. She would become cosmic dust.
But in a twist of fate—perhaps neither she nor Regilef would fight.
Just like the first three matches, a summoned mortal could again slay a god unaided.
"Um… what are you all talking about?" Grey asked nervously. The tension was suffocating.
"Nothing to worry about, Grey," Brunhilde said gently.
"How can I not worry?"
"Just leave it to us," Brunhilde assured, voice steady—but shadowed with uncertainty.