Their clash was far from unique.
Bloody afterimages of gods tearing into each other now filled every corner of sky and earth.
Whether old, revered deities worshiped by millions of mortals or newly ascended gods who had just crossed the mortal-divine threshold, all were now locked in deadly duels—for their pantheons, for glory, and for dominance over this chaotic universe.
The Fuso world, which had been deliberately emptied to beco a battlefield, had shrunk to about one-tenth of its original size.
Still, it spanned tens of thousands of square kiloters.
As for its elental energy, Thalos hadn't completely drained it.
After all, as a battleground, if all elental energy were removed, it would beco a perfectly neutral zone—harmless and fair to both sides.
Instead, Thalos had left a generous amount of earth, water, fire, and air elents in place—and long before, he'd had his subordinate gods imprint the Aesir's universal divine seal onto all of them.
Any foreign god trying to control those elents would have to fight for it—with divine power.
And it wasn't as simple as just taking it. They'd first have to deconstruct the divine script ford from Runes and Lunas glyphs, or risk wasting ten tis the effort for half the results.
As the Greek gods poured in, they quickly noticed the problem.
Curiously, they didn't seem to care.
Or rather, they had long anticipated the difficulties of fighting on foreign soil.
In theory, the Aesir would face the sa problem if they invaded the Greek world.
That was because the Greek world's sky and earth weren't just elents—they were beings.
The sky itself was Uranus, the first Olympian God-King. He was the sky; the sky was him. They were one and the sa. That's why, even after his son Cronus seized power, he didn't kill his father—if he had, the Greek world would've been left skyless, exposed to the naked chaos of the universe.
The earth, anwhile, was the physical manifestation of Gaia, the Earth Mother.
These two ancient beings occupied the Greek world's heavens and ground, which ant that any foreign god trying to draw power from the sky or earth would have a very hard ti.
Taking a little power might be like plucking a hair—annoying but tolerable.
But taking a lot? That would be like slicing off flesh. The difficulty was unimaginable.
Even so, wave after wave of Aesir gods charged forward.
Because in the Aesir pantheon, at least on the surface, the path to ascension was open.
For lower-tier gods—descended gods, slave gods—this was their final chance to rise to the rank of a Major God.
It wasn't just the subordinates of the Six Great God-Kings. Even the most obscure gods under Thalos's direct command surged toward the battlefield.
It was in this chaos that Athena noticed sothing strange—certain unidentified figures had bypassed the subsidiary worlds acting as buffers and descended directly into the Greek world.
"Hm? What's this?"
Athena was no stranger to divine power.
She had seen Poseidon split a gulf with his trident, hurling massive waves and boulders at a city.
She'd seen Aphrodite whip up a seductive storm with just a flick of her skirt, bewitching an entire city's n.
She'd seen mighty beasts fall cold and lifeless under Artemis's whirling arrows of wind.
But now—from the sky—descended tal cylinders, seemingly simple, yet utterly extraordinary.
They fell with the divine light of Aesir gods, transforming into beams of light that pierced heaven and earth—plunging from the sky, through the earth, down into the ocean, and into the planet's core.
Gaia stirred.
It was faint—more a twitch than a tremor.
To mortals, it was just a montary, minor earthquake.
A 3.0 on the Richter scale—harmless.
To Gaia, it was like being pricked by a single acupuncture needle.
And yet—almost no one realized the trick Thalos had just pulled.
Athena wanted to investigate what the Aesir had done, but she had no ti.
All over the world, ergency reports were flooding in.
She was forced to reassign the Greek gods, sending them to repel Aesir invaders at once.
Only Odin, holed up in Tartarus, noticed the truth.
Whoooosh—
A forged-steel cylinder pierced through Tartarus's roof—not too big, not too small. Roughly the size of a human coffin. Its base was shaped like a spike, while the upper half was a standard cylindrical body.
The mont it entered the underworld, Odin felt a familiar law radiating from it.
Ignoring the risk of being seen by the Hundred-Ard Giant, he eagerly ran toward it.
He crossed the equivalent of three city blocks before finding the thing.
"Uh…"
He was shocked to discover—it had been stepped on by the Hundred-Ard Giant as it passed. It now looked exactly like those tal goblets that drunken giants had crushed back in Asgard's Hall of Joy.
But that didn't matter.
It was crushed, but not completely.
The core component had been partially exposed by the damage.
Odin's soul—if it could still be said to have a heart—was now pounding faster than ever.
Etched on the cylinder in rune script was a single line:
"Copper lts at 1083.4°C."
Odin swore—no one in all of the Greek world could possibly understand what that ant.
Hell, even in Ginnungagap, probably only a few gods truly grasped its significance.
But Odin? He knew.
He was the only one who did—because he had witnessed the first creation of the Ginnungagap world.
He knew—this was one of the "physical laws" Thalos had quietly embedded into the fabric of reality long ago.
Thalos had built Ginnungagap's entire cosmology from scratch, using what he casually called "physics equations."
Odin had never understood physics.
But that didn't stop him from feeling the weight of its power.
Ever since he was cast into the chaos, through every divine war that followed, he'd never once seen a god enter Ginnungagap and co out ahead.
Even the mighty Quetzalcoatl had charged in full of arrogance—only to be crushed almost imdiately, unable to convert Ginnungagap's elents into usable divine power.
When it ca to seizing elental control, Thalos had the greatest talent in the entire universe.
So now, seeing this massive steel spike, how could Odin not be overjoyed?
"Big Brother! You knew I was down here, didn't you? You sent this just for ?! Brother, I get it now! Thank you, big bro—!"
Odin had been maddened by his entrapnt behind Poseidon's cursed bronze walls—a structure absurdly effective at restraining divine power, godly presence, even souls. That's why Odin's spirit had been stuck here for so long.
But now that Thalos had sent this—
Now he understood.
"Low lting point…? Wait, does this an the hellfire of Tartarus could actually lt these damned bronze walls?!"
Odin was partly right.
At that sa mont, in Asgard's Silver Palace, Gilgash asked Thalos the sa question.
"Father God, will this really work?"
"Of course it will!" Thalos chuckled. "I'll bet you—no one in all of Olympus knows that copper is a soft, low-lting-point piece of junk. They love their bronze weapons so much—serves them right if it blows up in their faces!"
(End of Chapter)
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