Chapter 131: The Final Light and the Fall of the Arena
"There it is!"
Shakyamuni's eyes locked onto the target—an enormous chunk of flesh, ten times the size of Fenrir, suspended in the blood-soaked mist. With a fierce grin, he raised his divine weapon.
"Return to me, Six Paths! First Path—Heavenly Wheel of Avalokiteśvara: Twelve Celestial Axes!"
The staff in his hand morphed into a battle axe, its edge gleaming with divine fury. With a single swing, it summoned a tempest so powerful it could rival the fiercest cyclones of the mortal realm, scattering the blood fog in a roaring gust.
And there it was.
Embedded deep within the meat was a black crystal—an octahedron the size of a clenched fist. The nucleus. The core of Jörmungandr. The source of its immortality.
The axe flew, slicing through the air with such velocity that the friction ignited the atmosphere, casting magnesium-white flares across the sky.
The flesh parted.
The crystal gleamed.
Just one centimeter more—
"What?!"
The axe halted.
Not by divine resistance.
But by fangs.
Fenrir had returned, hidden in the mist, and clamped its jaws around the blade.
Shakyamuni's pupils contracted.
The nucleus wasn't just embedded in the serpent's flesh.
It was lodged in a chest.
Loki's chest.
He had fused with Jörmungandr.
And Fenrir.
He was no longer a god.
He was a vessel of monsters.
"Just a little too slow, Lord Shakyamuni," Loki sneered.
"Indeed," Shakyamuni growled, pouring every ounce of strength into his arms.
"HAAAH!"
The axe surged forward, striking Loki and sending him hurtling through the air. But it wasn't enough. He hadn't been cleaved in two. Loki had used the momentum to escape.
He flew toward the scattered serpent flesh, which was now weaving itself together with strands of blood—forming a net to catch him, to reabsorb him.
If he rejoined the body, the core would vanish again.
And the gods below, blinded by the fog, had no idea the nucleus was inside Loki.
"Damn it! Is there no one who can follow through?!"
But there was.
The Dragon Slayer.
He had seen it too.
Though his body was broken, his skin cracked and glowing red like molten iron, he moved.
Shakyamuni watched in awe.
The warrior was falling headfirst, arms extended, sword raised above him—its tip aimed at the earth.
Then—
Light erupted.
Blinding.
As if the world's radiance had gathered into his blade.
The arena dimmed.
The sword released a beam that tore through the ground, the air, the serpent flesh—everything in its path.
Loki's eyes widened.
He had no time to react.
The beam struck.
Not a cut.
An erasure.
Loki was vaporized.
Shakyamuni's breath caught.
The warrior's soul flickered.
Then vanished.
He understood.
That final strike had consumed everything.
The Dragon Slayer had burned his life to deliver the killing blow.
And now, he was gone.
Shakyamuni lowered his gaze.
Around him, the serpent's remains began to fall—no longer regenerating.
The blood rained down in torrents, staining the earth crimson.
But it was no longer venomous.
The destruction of the core had neutralized the poison.
Had it not, the flood would have melted the entire floating island.
Still, the damage was done.
The beam had pierced the island's core.
It was falling.
The next battle would have to be relocated.
The arena needed rebuilding.
The final slash had split it in two.
Chapter 132: May I Return, Lady Gaia?
Panic spread.
The gods and mortals in the arena reeled from the sudden blast of light that had sliced through the blood mist, the earth, and the sky.
It had carved through the divine passageway, split the arena in half, and evaporated chunks of serpent flesh.
"What… what just happened, Sister Brunnhilde?"
Grettel clung to a pillar, her other hand trembling near her mouth.
Had the beam passed through her section, she would have been vaporized.
Thankfully, it had struck only unoccupied zones.
"Waaah!"
A massive chunk of meat crashed nearby, startling her.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The arena groaned under the impact, like meteors slamming into its surface. Parts of it began to collapse.
Then—
Red.
The sky turned crimson.
Blood rain.
Grettel scrambled to open an umbrella—where she got it, no one knew.
Wait… wasn't the blood corrosive?
But the umbrella remained intact.
The ground didn't melt.
The serpent's body wasn't regenerating.
It was truly dead.
Then—
A tremor.
Grettel nearly lost her footing.
The stands across from her were drifting away.
The ten-meter-wide fissure in the center of the arena was widening.
"Eeeeh?!"
She was tilting.
Not from imbalance.
The platform itself was slanting—like a ship breaking in half and sinking.
BOOM!
An explosion erupted from beneath the fissure, shaking the arena violently.
The tilt worsened.
Wait—
She could see another floating island below.
It was rising?
No.
They were falling.
"This island is collapsing!"
She screamed.
The ancient floating island, suspended for countless ages, had reached its end.
Evacuation was necessary.
Then—
Miracles.
Several chief gods activated divine powers, transferring the split arena to the nearby floating island.
Everyone watched as the once-proud battleground—host to countless celestial tournaments—crumbled and fell into the abyss.
"Sister Brunnhilde, where are you going?"
Grettel noticed her sister walking away.
"Are you not going to see—mmph!"
Gerndal clamped a hand over her mouth.
"Enough. Let her be, Grettel."
Gerndal's expression was grim.
Brunnhilde needed solitude.
She had seen the match result on her divine tablet.
Not announced by Heimdall.
But auto-determined by the system.
Result: Draw.
Not because of cheating.
Not because Loki summoned two monsters.
But because both combatants were dead.
That was why Brunnhilde's mood had darkened.
"Sigh…"
Gerndal looked around at the devastation.
The final battle between gods and mortals could not continue.
Not yet.
It was a temporary suspension.
Ragnarök would resume.
But the arena needed reconstruction.
It would take time.
Brunnhilde deserved rest.
In the Grand Temple
"Such a pity."
The gods in the temple lamented Jörmungandr's death.
Their allied pantheon had suffered.
But compared to the unexpected chaos, those losses were trivial.
They had never truly considered Loki an ally.
Traitors were despised everywhere.
The greatest gain?
Odin was near death.
Whether he could be saved was uncertain.
Hopefully not.
But then again—
Didn't their master want Odin in his ranks?
His death would be a loss.