Chapter 111: The Tolling Bell Is Your Fate's End
"What is Lord Hades doing?!"
"Why harm himself?"
"I don't understand!"
From gods to mortals, confusion rippled through the coliseum like a wildfire.
Even the Valkyries were unsettled. Gray blinked rapidly, whispering to her sister, "What… is this?"
Only Zeus understood.
He stood up abruptly, face suddenly grave—his booming voice laced with awe. "This… is full-force commitment from the very first breath."
No hesitation. No warm-up.
Hades had sensed the threat. Enough so that he wouldn't afford himself even a moment of restraint.
Some beings entered battle gradually, revealing their powers in waves. But there were others who emerged with everything blazing—a single heartbeat away from destruction.
Zeus's lips curled. "Brünnhilde… you've done it again. Another terrifying human."
Some spectators misread Hades's intent. "Is he… injuring himself to make things fair?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Loki scoffed, flashing a scornful glare toward Ares. "You're not buying that nonsense, are you?"
"N-no, of course not!" Ares answered, but his tone betrayed a flicker of doubt.
He couldn't grasp why Hades would self-inflict such damage.
"It's said," Hermes cut in smoothly, "that Lord Hades's blood is called the Blood of Immortality. Weapons bathed in it transcend their limits, becoming divine beyond measure."
Ares turned with a start. "Hermes? Since when—?"
"Since now. Honestly, not noticing me… how heartbreaking," Hermes replied with faux melancholy.
Ares clenched his fists, biting back the urge to question further. He didn't want to seem ignorant—especially when Hermes acted like this was common knowledge.
"You must've heard of it, right?" Hermes teased gently.
"Y-yeah, of course!" Ares lied, glaring at Hermes's amused face.
Then the battlefield shifted.
Hades's divine weapon, the twin-pronged spear—was melting.
Or so it seemed.
"Look closely," Hermes advised. "That's not melting…"
"I knew that! It's… transforming?"
The spear morphed, twisting into a more monstrous, lance-like form. It didn't look forged—it looked alive.
A weapon with intent. A divine creature born of pain.
And with it, Hades's aura surged to terrifying heights. Ares instinctively bowed his head, unable to withstand the pressure.
Not even among gods could one imagine someone capable of defeating this version of Hades.
"It's over," Ares murmured. "Victory is assured."
"Hmm," Hermes sighed softly.
"You sighed?" Ares asked.
"Nothing," Hermes replied, but there was contempt flickering beneath his eyelids.
Victory wasn't certain.
When a god's opening move was to draw every ounce of power, it meant their enemy could end them in an instant. This wasn't dominance—it was survival.
Even Hermes felt uneasy.
The summoning hadn't used Akasha's channels—it had forcibly torn the human from a battlefield soaked in divine blood.
That blood… it felt familiar.
Hermes leaned forward. Recognition struck him. "It's their blood… those ancient ones."
"What? You know whose it is?" Ares asked, then flinched—he'd just revealed his own ignorance.
Hermes ignored him.
"Oh? So you noticed too," Loki whispered, eyes gleaming.
But none would elaborate. The gods loved their riddles.
Down below, the match was finally beginning.
"I come forth from the abyss," the black knight spoke, voice as deep as an ocean trench. "From the twilight of death itself. I am Hassan-i-Sabbah—the Old Man of the Mountain."
He held his sword upright—a ritualistic stance like a knight about to depart for war.
Then, with a precise movement, he rotated the blade. The flat face turned to an edge, and in that moment, something shifted.
Flames erupted—not of fire, but of death.
Blue and violet, dancing unnaturally around him. Flames that twisted reality, scorching air and bending light.
Behind him, illusions bloomed: a mountain of skulls in a windless void.
Hades grinned, gripping his weapon. "Show me, human. Show me your power to slay gods!"
They wouldn't need drawn-out battle. No parries. No second strike.
Their fight… would be decided in a single blow.
Chapter 112: The Quickest Round—Victory in an Instant
The assassin raised his blade. His aura ignited like a storm, condensing into its tip.
Then he said, "Can you hear it? The bell."
Bell?
Spectators stared.
Records spoke of the legend: those slain by Hassan heard a bell before death. But no one heard it now.
Except… Hades.
His pupils shrank. He staggered—not physically, but within.
He hadn't heard the bell. It had bypassed his ears entirely—resonating straight into his mind like a psychic toll.
Time fractured.
For the lord of death, the sensation was impossible to ignore. That bell… it was a prophecy. A curse.
To hear it was to be marked. Fated.
"To hear the bell," the knight intoned, "is to know your destiny ends now."
No one saw the strike.
Not a single god or mortal could decipher when Hassan had moved.
Even Shiva, gripping the stone rail with all four arms, growled. "So much for Brünnhilde's cheap tactics. Another monster."
"It's just theatrics," muttered two crows from above, though their voices trembled.
A moment later, the birds went silent—stone-still.
Their master had cast a death-glance.
The coliseum hushed. Not a soul blinked.
The two champions advanced.
Then—
"…Huh?"
"…Wait!"
"Their positions—!"
In the blink of an eye, the fighters had passed each other.
Not just switched positions—but reversed posture.
Hades stood poised as if mid-thrust. Hassan, blade trailing behind, was already in post-slash.
Time had… skipped.
No one had seen the moment of impact.
And then, the atmosphere quivered. Even the air seemed to mourn.