The Greek world's sky god Uranus made his move as always.
As the sky deity of an ultra-massive world, his tricks worked well against gods; the problem was that he lacked divine arts of sufficient power to counter a small world coming in on a collision course.
No, the poverty of his imagination couldn't even conceive why a small world would willingly let itself be hijacked by Odin to ram the larger Greek world in a fight to the death.
For a world will, that was a lose-lose, harming others without benefiting oneself.
Sadly, Uranus could not grasp that some small worlds didn't actually possess a distinct world will.
When Odin dragged along that small world's former god-king and forced him to carry out the self-destructive tactic of ramming his own small world, that unlucky world's will didn't even know it had been sent to die.
Under the gaze of Athena and the other Greek deities, the small world—its world barrier a blue-gray—burned scarlet from the violent friction with the Greek sky. Even as Uranus whipped up terrifying storms, desperately grinding down this dreadful intruder, it was no use—his hurricanes were like saw-toothed maws chewing the small world to mush, yet as it perished, the small world still hurled out sheets of earth fragments like torrential rain.
Pebbles entering the Greek atmosphere would burn away thanks to Uranus's targeted divine arts and high-speed friction, but the multi–ten-thousand-ton boulders were not something Uranus could stop.
Though this primordial god-king worked hard, Athena still watched nearly triple digits' worth of giant rocks fall into the Greek world; in the silent play of light, she could clearly see more than a hundred bursts of light so bright they'd scorch mortal retinas, expanding as ring-shaped waves in all directions.
A sea a kilometer deep was pierced in an instant; meteorites slammed into the seabed, even lofting fountains of magma from the ocean floor.
Other fragments of the small world struck mountain ranges; under the enormous force, they propagated along the grain of the valleys, peeling off ten-thousand-ton slabs of rock, while fine cracks devoured the Alps in the blink of an eye.
Watching mushroom clouds of smoke and dust, each thousands of meters high, billow from land and sea, Athena—though not inside the Greek world—could imagine the world-ending drone that would make eardrums feel like they were about to burst.
Odin's god-voice, full of cruelty and mockery, reached the ears of Athena, Uranus, and even Zeus.
"Damned Zeus! You think I'll get captured again and then kneel like an old dog with a broken leg before you, begging for mercy? Dream on—send any more of your men and I'll blow us all sky-high with these small worlds in my hand!"
He sounded utterly deranged.
He was threatening Zeus with mutual destruction.
And you know what—it damn well worked!
A barefoot man doesn't fear a man in shoes.
Exalted as he was (though who knew how many still recognized him as God-Emperor), Zeus certainly didn't want to die together with a trash god-king like Odin.
Before today, Odin held his own Rilanka, plus the Dogon world he'd snatched, and five small worlds grabbed with the help of five Aesir god-kings—seven small worlds he could use for annihilation attacks.
He'd just used one to kill Heracles and one to ram; he still had five small worlds in hand.
If he rammed all five into the Greek world at once, the Greek world really wouldn't be able to take it!
Facing this super-villain of the divine realms—captured before, the one who incited the former god-king in hell to rebel and then slipped out—Zeus and Athena actually had no good counter for the moment.
The evil god himself was just a remnant soul—his death was no loss.
But he happened to be holding god-tier mega-bombs that could break the game.
You really couldn't corner him too hard.
The problem was, if the Olympians couldn't take down Odin and the five small worlds in his hand, it meant that Athena and company couldn't maintain god-king–level power. With the mortals of the Greek world already slaughtered or captured to the tune of seven or eight out of ten, the foundation of their divine power was more than half ruined.
Athena could fully foresee her power dropping all the way down from god-king level, likely ending up at that of an ordinary true god.
Yes!
In a collapsing world where mortals were nearly extinct, a faith god like her, who gained power from belief, might not even be able to hold on to Major God level.
In that moment, she despaired completely of the Olympian pantheon's future.
Don't be fooled by how Zeus had won the last "Titanomachy" with his brothers and sisters—first, he had borrowed the strength of the Hecatoncheires and Cyclopes; second, he had taken several years to defeat Kronos.
In today's situation, where would there be years for Zeus to quell the chaos?
And take ten thousand steps back—even if Zeus and Kronos reconciled immediately, could the second- and third-generation gods truly set aside their old grudges, work together wholeheartedly, and face outward as one?
Truth be told, Athena had daydreamed about that slender possibility. But seeing Odin's crazed methods now, she knew it was all over.
If they couldn't even take down a tough piece of meat like Odin, there was no dealing with the God-Emperor Thalos Borson, who surpassed Odin in strength, vision, mettle, and wisdom.
The Aesir's might and stratagems left Athena unable to glimpse even a sliver of a chance.
In the cosmic void, Athena rendezvoused with Apollo. They met each other's eyes in long silence.
Athena spoke first: "If I go back, I'll be the scapegoat for this failed expedition. Hera won't spare me, and that old lecher Zeus will strip my power and haul me into bed like a toy. I can't bear it. I'm not going back."
"I see…" Apollo's tone was full of sighs. He could, of course, feel Hera's extreme hostility. But his character—his very nature—didn't allow him to do something rebellious.
As things stood, the words Athena uttered in despair, slightly altered, would have fit Apollo himself without a seam.
Back then Hera had sent Python to hunt him, Artemis, and their mother Leto—how could such a life-and-death hatred be casually forgotten?
Precisely because Zeus had been god-king and Hera queen of the gods, and knowing revenge was impossible, Artemis and Apollo had chosen to make a show of reconciliation. Even after they became two of the Twelve God-Kings, had Hera laid them any fewer snares?
Artemis's defection to Thalos had pierced Zeus's and Hera's nerves all the deeper, and Apollo's position had grown even more awkward.
Apollo let out a deep sigh. "Athena, I can pretend I didn't hear you, and I won't try to stop you…"
Fate had other plans.
Before Apollo finished, a peerlessly brilliant rainbow light flashed through the space around them.
It was the gleam of the Rainbow Bridge!
Out of that dazzling radiance, Thor and several Aesir god-kings surged forth with their armies, menacing and fierce.
Athena's face showed neither surprise nor joy. She said calmly to Thor, "I—Olympian god-king, goddess of war and wisdom Athena—am willing to unconditionally surrender to His Majesty Thalos Borson!"
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