Chapter 113: Death Dealt, But Whose End?
The tremor deepened.
The entire arena was bathed in searing white light—a blinding pulse that swallowed everything.
Boom!
The air itself seemed to detonate.
Then came a low, jagged crackling—crack-crack-crack—as if the arena's very foundations were tearing apart.
At the edges of the audience stands, the walls buckled. Chaos erupted. People screamed, scrambling to flee. The pressure from the clash surged upward like a tidal wave, knocking gods and mortals alike off their feet.
"What—what just happened?!"
Ares bellowed, frantic.
Had they… clashed? Had the final blow been exchanged?
"Who won?!"
Even Loki, usually composed, was tense. Eyes locked on the stage. "Wait… what do you mean, who won?" Ares asked again, as if asking might change the outcome.
The silence was unbearable.
"But if someone did win, then surely it's Lord Hades… right?"
"No," Hermes said sharply. "The battle is already decided, dear brother."
He didn't waste time mocking Ares now—this was too serious.
They hadn't exchanged more than a single strike. That opening move had also been the final one.
Perhaps a draw?
Hermes shook his head. Hades had decreed that this match would not end in a tie. For gods, there was no middle ground. One would fall. One would remain.
Their positions had swapped mid-stride. Not due to tactical maneuver—but because they had moved faster than the air could keep up.
It was like the shock cone when a jet breaks the sound barrier—air compressed violently until it explodes in a sonic boom.
Except this was no jet.
It was divine speed so intense that space itself momentarily collapsed in on its own inertia.
"Who won?" repeated a voice, softer, clearer.
It was Aphrodite.
She had not moved through the entire match—until now. Only this fight had made her rise, her form taut with apprehension.
Even gods who might normally be drawn to her glow were instead staring at the battlefield, breathless.
She narrowed her eyes. The white mist had begun to vanish.
Gray mist lifted like the aftershock of a lightning bolt. One blink, and the battlefield reemerged.
The two combatants stood motionless.
She—and all others—watched with rapt intensity, scanning their forms for any signs of damage.
Hades still stood tall, stern as ever. The only visible wound was the one he had inflicted upon himself to empower his weapon.
Then they turned to the other.
Hassan-i-Sabbah.
At first glance, he too seemed unscathed.
But then—
Herlock's eyes widened. "His neck…"
A thin gash split across the right side of Hassan's throat. Like a delayed reaction, it opened slowly. Blood welled, dark and unstoppable.
A clean strike. Precise. Right to an artery.
It was enough to kill a mortal.
But Hassan moved not with panic—but with calm.
He sheathed his greatsword. Took a single step forward.
And vanished.
His figure dissolved like mist drifting away from moonlight.
He retreated.
Chapter 114: The Death He Gave Was Greater
The black knight—the Old Man of the Mountain—was gone.
But his voice, low and resolute, echoed across the entire coliseum:
"Fear not, humanity. Should divine evil descend again, Hassan-i-Sabbah will answer the call."
The arena trembled—not from power, but from the chill in that promise.
"Huh?"
"He lost, didn't he? Why talk like that?"
"Answering summons? Didn't Heimdall tell him defeat meant real death?"
"Actually," came a hesitant voice, "I don't think Heimdall ever mentioned that."
Chuckles and mockery rippled through the divine side.
Even in defeat, this human had to pose.
Fourth round: Ragnarok. Gods vs humanity.
Victory belonged to the gods.
And it had been the swiftest match of all.
If one removed the brief seconds it took for them to approach, the actual exchange had lasted less than a thousandth of a second.
Many believed Hades had instantly obliterated his opponent.
A small cut had proven lethal. Perhaps Hades's weapon bore more than mere physical power.
Perhaps it held a curse.
After all, he was the god of the dead.
One touch, and death might follow.
"That—that's not true," Heimdall's voice cracked suddenly.
The entire coliseum fell silent.
"He's not dead," Heimdall said. "He merely disengaged the summoning. He returned to history."
The words hit like thunder.
The gods' expressions shifted.
Hades stood frozen.
It mirrored Thor's first-round match—when everyone thought victory had been achieved, only to realize the opposite.
Was this the same?
"Impossible…"
"This can't be happening!"
The wound wasn't a full decapitation—only a thin slash. Blood leaked, but not dangerously so.
And then Hades moved.
He reached up and touched his own neck.
The crowd exhaled collectively.
But something was wrong.
"Looks like Hades won," Ares said triumphantly, punching the air.
"Opponent ran off scared!"
"If there were a rematch, Hades would pierce his skull!"
"No," Hermes murmured. "Something's not right."
He stared at Hades's face.
No rage. No frustration.
Satisfaction.
The expression of someone whose hunger had been sated.
Could it have… ended in a tie?
"That can't be," Zeus growled.
In divine combat, draws don't exist.
Both parties must finish—only one can survive.
But this—
This was troubling.
Hades had fed his own blood into his weapon. Not just to strengthen it, but to imbue it.
A single strike would not just wound—it would invoke the very concept of death.
The curse was irreversible.
If it hit, no matter how shallow, the victim would die.
Of course, if he missed… Hades himself would become vulnerable.
So Hassan… had indeed been struck.
But instead of succumbing on the spot, he had returned to his age.
Perhaps… to witness it one last time before fading into oblivion.
"Wait, Heimdall!" Zeus's voice cut in, crackling with authority.
Heimdal flinched as he accepted a direct message.
"Yes, I understand," he replied, eyes wide.
"So that means… the winner is—?"
He turned back to the stage, inhaling deeply.
"All of you thought this was a draw? No! Let me declare—"
"I lost."
The voice was cold.
Final.
Hades spoke.
Heimdal choked on his words—bit his tongue.
The pain was ignored.
Nothing mattered now except that sentence.
"What… did you say, Lord Hades?"
"I do not wish to repeat myself," he said.
Everyone had misread the scene.
Even Zeus had assumed.
But only Hades knew.
He had lost.