The human section exploded.
Screaming and crying and laughing all mixed together in a cacophony of overwhelming emotion. People who'd been holding their breath for those ten eternal seconds suddenly couldn't contain what they felt.
"HE'S ALIVE!"
"HE SURVIVED! HE SURVIVED EVERYTHING!"
"THEY USED EVERYTHING AND HE'S STILL STANDING!"
"WE'RE GOING TO LIVE! OH GODS, WE'RE ACTUALLY GOING TO LIVE!"
An old man collapsed in his seat, hands over his face, sobbing like a child. His wife held him, both of them shaking with emotion too big for words.
A mother lifted her daughter onto her shoulders so the child could see. "Remember this," she said, tears streaming down her face. "No matter what happens in your life, remember that you saw this. One man against thirteen gods, and defeating them. Remember that humanity doesn't kneel."
Strangers grabbed each other, embracing, crying together. People who'd never met were suddenly family, bonded by witnessing the impossible.
In the divine sections, the atmosphere had inverted completely.
Silence. Total, crushing silence.
Then they broke into afraid murmurs.
"He survived."
"Thirteen ultimate techniques. Simultaneously. And he survived."
"That's not possible. That can't be possible. There are limits. There have to be limits—"
"THERE ARE NO LIMITS!" someone screamed, hysteria cracking through divine composure. "DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND? WHATEVER HE IS, WHATEVER RULES HE FOLLOWS, THEY'RE NOT OURS!"
A Greek goddess stood, pointing at the arena with a shaking hand. "We need to stop this! We need to intervene! This violates every—"
"Violates WHAT?!" another god roared back. "The barrier prevents interference! And even if it didn't, you want to go down there? YOU want to face that thing?"
Silence. No one volunteered.
In Zeus's private box, the King of Olympus stood frozen. His hands gripped the railing so hard the divine metal was bending, warping under his fingers. His face was pale, blood draining from divine features.
He was remembering Tartarus. Remembering Edward's blade cutting through his defenses like they were air. Remembering the humiliation of being beaten, of bleeding, of running. And that had been before Edward activated his Noble Phantasm, before the full extent of his power. It was a far cry from what he shown to his avatar.
Now that same being was down there, powered beyond what Zeus had faced, systematically dismantling thirteen gods.
Hera was cheering from her spot. Her expression was a mix of vindication, pride, and fierce love. She looked over at the gods who were stunned now watching this spectacle. Good, let them all see what her husband was.
Zeus glanced at her and clenched his teeth. Very well. Let's take that traitorous whore as hostage and kill him. He won't be able to do anything if she was in his hands. And once he killed him, he can just reset the world from start with more obedient servants.
In the Valkyrie box, Brunhilde laughed, the sound cutting through the shocked silence.
"Sister!" Göll stared at her. "How can you laugh? This is..."
"Perfect," Brunhilde finished. "This is perfect. Do you understand what we're witnessing? Gods learning they can die. Actually, permanently die. This changes everything."
The thirteen human warriors sat in various states of shock and awe.
Lü Bu's impassive face had cracked, showing genuine amazement. "I called myself unmatched under heaven. I was a fool."
Leonidas was weeping openly, unashamed. "A true Spartan. Fighting impossible odds with perfect form. I'm honored to share his heritage."
Adam just nodded slowly, understanding something the others didn't. "He's showing them what humanity really is. Not weak. Not inferior. Just pushed far enough that we stop caring about the consequences."
On the arena floor, Edward began walking.
Not running. Not charging. Just walking with steady, measured steps toward Heracles. The mighty hero was closest, still reeling from using his ultimate technique, his arms bleeding from earlier wounds.
Heracles saw him coming. Tried to raise his sword, but his arms trembled, weakened from the earlier cuts and from channeling his twelve labors. The weapon felt impossibly heavy.
"Stay back!" The hero's voice cracked with something that might have been fear. "I am Heracles! I completed the Twelve Labors! I was a hero!"
Edward's blades flashed.
Both strikes simultaneously. Perfect coordination. The weapons took Heracles's arms off at the shoulders. Not the elbows this time, but complete severance at the joint.
The arms fell to the ground, still gripping the sword. Golden ichor sprayed in arterial spurts, painting the ground, the air, Edward's already bloodstained form.
Heracles screamed.
The sound was primal. Raw. The scream of someone experiencing true helplessness for the first time in their existence. He fell to his knees, staring at the stumps where his arms had been, watching golden blood pour out in pulsing streams.
"No," he whispered. "No. This isn't...I can't..."
Edward grabbed his head. Heracles's eyes snapped up, meeting Edward's crimson gaze. He saw no mercy there. No hesitation. No doubt. Just cold, absolute certainty.
"Please," Heracles begged, and that single word from the mightiest hero broke something in everyone watching. "I was a hero once. I protected humanity. I saved people. I..."
"Yet you stood by when they voted to erase them."
Edward's hands squeezed.
Heracles's skull began to crack. Fissures appeared in divine bone that had withstood blows from Titans, from monsters, from gods. The hero screamed again, a sound of pure agony, thrashing but unable to escape without arms, unable to fight back.
The pressure increased. Heracles's eyes bulged, bloodshot, veins standing out on his temples. His mouth opened in a soundless scream as his skull compressed.
Then it shattered.
The sound was like a boulder breaking. Bone fragments and brain matter exploded between Edward's fingers, spraying outward in a grotesque mix of gold and grey. Heracles's body convulsed once. A final, violent death-spasm, then went completely still.
Edward released the corpse. It fell forward, face-first into the ground, armless and headless, a lake of golden blood spreading beneath it.
For three heartbeats, absolute silence reigned.
Then the human section erupted with sound that transcended mere noise—triumph and horror and disbelief all mixed into something raw and primal.
"HE KILLED ONE!"
"A GOD JUST DIED!"
"NOT WOUNDED! DEAD! ACTUALLY DEAD!"
"IS THAT POSSIBLE?! CAN GODS REALLY DIE?!"
In the divine sections, a different sound: total, crushing silence. Then someone spoke, voice shaking:
"Heracles is... gone."
"His divine essence isn't reforming. He's not returning to Olympus. He's just... gone."
"That's impossible!" someone shrieked. "Gods don't die permanently! We always come back! Always! It's fundamental to what we are!"
"Look at him!" another god screamed, pointing at the corpse. "He's not coming back! His body is dissolving into nothing! Not light returning to his divine realm! Just NOTHING!"
And it was true. Heracles's corpse was breaking apart, turning into golden light that faded and died rather than ascending. The hero-god wasn't going to Olympus. Wasn't being resurrected. He was being erased from existence.
Permanently.
A truth the gods had forgotten, or refused to acknowledge, was being demonstrated in the most brutal way imaginable:
They could die. Truly, completely die.
If the right being killed them the right way.
And Edward was exactly that being.
On the arena floor, Loki made his move.
The Trickster had been circling since the dust cleared, shifting forms rapidly—shadow to smoke to barely visible shimmer. While Edward was focused on Heracles's corpse, while the other gods were frozen in shock, he saw his opening.
His form solidified behind Edward, daggers already thrusting toward exposed kidneys. The perfect backstab, refined over millennia of treachery. Silent. Lethal. The kind of kill that Loki had perfected.
Edward sensed him one heartbeat too late.
The blades drove forward, aimed to pierce vital organs.
Edward twisted. The daggers carved deep gashes across his back instead of penetrating through, blood spraying.
Edward didn't even stumble.
Instead, he spun with both Blades of Chaos extended in perfect synchronization, moving on pure instinct and muscle memory.
The weapons crossed in a perfect X, crimson flames trailing behind them.
Loki's eyes widened. He tried to shift, to transform into smoke or shadow or anything that could escape. His body began changing. But he was far too slow.
The blades bisected him. One diagonal slash from right shoulder to left hip. The other from left shoulder to right hip. The cuts met exactly in the center of his chest, four pieces carved with surgical precision.
For one moment, Loki held together. Surface tension and disbelief keeping him whole. His mouth opened, always had to have the last word, the final trick. "You...Monster."
Then he fell apart.
Four pieces hitting the ground separately. Upper torso. Lower torso. Arms falling away. Each piece spraying golden ichor from the cuts, painting the arena floor.
Loki's face, still conscious for a split second, showed absolute disbelief. The Trickster who'd escaped every prison, who'd deceived every pantheon, who'd orchestrated Ragnarok itself, killed in an instant by simple, brutal efficiency.
Then the light faded from his eyes, and his body began dissolving.
The Norse section erupted.
"LOKI!"
"THE TRICKSTER IS DEAD!"
"HOW?! HE'S ESCAPED DEATH A THOUSAND TIMES! "
"He tried to be clever!" someone shouted. "Tried to backstab! You can't trick someone who doesn't care about honor!"
But notably absent was grief. The Norse gods had never truly trusted Loki, never loved him. His death was shock, not loss. Thor, blind and broken on the ground, heard the commotion but didn't react. Loki had been useful, an ally of convenience, but never a brother in any way that mattered.
Edward stood between two dissolving corpses. Heracles fading to nothing, Loki scattered in four pieces. His back started to heal slowly. But he didn't even glance at the wounds.
His crimson eyes were already fixed on the next target.
Anu was still on the ground where he'd fallen earlier, the massive wound across his chest leaking stellar light instead of blood. The eldest god, the lawgiver who'd existed since before most pantheons had names, struggled to rise on trembling legs.
His broken staff lay beside him, both pieces still glowing faintly with cosmic authority.
Edward appeared in front of him suddenly, so fast the movement was invisible.
Anu looked up, his ancient eyes meeting Edward's gaze. The Sumerian sky god's face was set, accepting. He'd lived since before time had proper meaning, he knew when his end had come.
"The cosmic order will persist without me," Anu said quietly, with dignity. "Do what you must, godslayer. I'll not beg for mercy."
Edward's blade took his head off in one clean stroke.
The ancient head rolled away, stellar light leaking from the severed neck like liquid stars. Anu's body stood for a moment before collapsing forward.
The crown of stars fell from the severed head, hitting the arena floor and cracking. Each star within winking out until only dead metal remained.
Three gods dead in under ninety seconds.
The Sumerian section sat in stunned silence. Their king, their eldest god gone. Several gods stood in respect for their fallen leader, even as fear gripped their hearts.
Edward moved toward Ares next.
The God of War saw him coming and charged to meet him, not from bravery but from understanding. Ares knew running would be pointless, knew begging would be disgraceful. Better to die fighting, even if the outcome was certain.
"Come on then!" Ares roared, raising his sword. "I'm the God of War! I'll fight until..."
Edward appeared behind him mid-sentence, moving faster than Ares could track.
His hand shot forward, punching through Ares's back. He pierced through the blood-red armor and divine flesh. His fingers closed in around Ares's spine.
Ares's body went rigid. His sword clattered from nerveless fingers. He looked down at the hand protruding from his chest, golden ichor pouring around it.
Edward's voice was cold: "You have a spine? How Interesting."
Then he ripped it out.
The sound was wet and terrible, vertebrae separating with sharp cracks, nerves tearing, flesh rending. Ares's spinal column came free in one piece, golden ichor dripping from each segment.
Ares's body convulsed. His mouth opened but no sound emerged, without his spine, the signals couldn't reach his vocal cords. Golden light leaked from his eyes before he collapsed face-first, dead.
Edward tossed the spine aside. It clattered across the bloody stone.
Four gods dead.
The Greek section was in chaos. Gods standing, some calling out in anger, others in shock. But there was no hysteria. These were gods. They'd seen war, seen death. But never like this. Never permanent.
The remaining nine gods regrouped, forming a tighter defensive formation. Apollo's face was pale but set with determination. Poseidon's cold eyes showed calculation mixed with wariness. They were afraid, yes. But they were gods, and they would die as gods, not as cowards.
"He's picking us off one by one," Poseidon said quietly. "We need to work together!"
Thor suddenly roared from where he lay, blind and broken. "ENOUGH TALKING!" The Thunder God forced himself to his feet, blood streaming from his ruined face. "If we die, we die fighting!" He raised his hand, calling for Mjolnir.
The hammer didn't come. Edward still held it.
Thor charged anyway, mostly blind, using sound and divine sense to track Edward's position. No technique. No strategy. Just a warrior refusing to die on his knees.
Edward caught him by the throat mid-charge. Thor swung wildly, his fist connecting with Edward's jaw—a solid hit that would have shattered a mountain. Edward's head just moved a little to the side.
Then snapped back. His grip tightened.
"You've got heart, Thunder God," Edward said. "I'll give you that."
His other blade came up in a vicious arc, taking Thor's head off at the neck.
The mighty Thunder God's body stood for a moment, still holding the fighting stance, before collapsing. His head rolled away, blood still dripping from his ruined eyes.
Five gods dead.
The Norse section sat in disbelief. Then chaos broke.
"Loki was one thing, but even Thor..."
"That's Thor, he killed 66 Jotuns without breaking a sweat.... Now killed so...simply."
Odin crushed his armrest. He expected this, but still didn't wish to believe. It seems he would have to activate his contingency plan.
Atleast Thor had died as a warrior should, fighting to the last breath. There was honor in that, even in defeat.
"We can't win," Set said flatly, his animal face impassive. "But we're gods. We don't run."
"Agreed," Nezha said, hefting his weapons. The young god's hands were steady despite the fear in his eyes. "We fight."
"Then let's make it count," Perun rumbled, lightning crackling around his axe.
The remaining eight gods spread out, forming a coordinated attack pattern. No more speeches. No more bravado. Just grim acceptance and the determination to die with whatever dignity they could maintain.
Edward stood among five dissolving corpses, his body covered in blood both divine and mortal. His weapons still blazed with flame that never dimmed.
And his crimson eyes burning with Spartan Rage, tracked each of the remaining gods with cold precision.
He rolled his shoulders, testing his renewed body. The wounds from their ultimate techniques had healed, fed by the divine energy he'd absorbed. He was ready for more.
"WHO'S NEXT?" His voice boomed across the arena, carrying to every corner.
The eight gods looked at each other one final time. Then, as one, they charged.
*****
Two more chapters till I stop posting here. As promised, I'll finish this arc here before stopping entirely. I'll post the new site update later after final chapter.
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