"HAHAHAHAHA!"

Azkarath's laughter detonated across the crater like reality itself was choking on poison.

His clawed hand plunged into his own chest.

Not hesitating. Not flinching.

Just drove straight through obsidian armor with the kind of determination usually reserved for people who'd already accepted death and decided to make it count.

*SQUELCH.*

The sound made even battle-hardened warriors grimace.

He tore free something that pulsed with concentrated void energy, his own heart writhing in his grip like a living thing that desperately wanted to stay attached to its original owner.

Reality screamed.

Not metaphorically.

The air itself made sounds that suggested existence was filing formal complaints about workplace safety violations while simultaneously lacking the proper forms.

"What the—"

Thor's execution strike froze mid-swing.

Because across the battlefield, Anthalion's dissolving essence suddenly reformed with terrible purpose.

His serpentine form coalesced just long enough for those hypnotic coils to tear into his own chest cavity, extracting a corrupted core that writhed with patterns forcing nearby soldiers to look away before their minds decided sanity was overrated anyway.

*BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.*

Malgrath's scattered volcanic fragments converged.

Moving with intention that made "scattered remains" look like a temporary condition rather than actual defeat, obsidian shards reassembling around a molten heart radiating heat intense enough to vaporize divine armor at ranges that should have been safe.

His final roar carried words that made Thor's blood run cold despite literal lightning coursing through his veins:

"Our deaths fuel the TRUE BEGINNING!"

The three hearts pulsed in synchronized rhythm.

*Thump. Thump. Thump.*

Dark miasma bled from them in waves that felt fundamentally wrong, like someone had taken the concept of "shouldn't exist" and compressed it into physical form, then decided that wasn't disturbing enough and added malevolent intent just to be thorough.

Existence itself seemed to flinch.

Trying desperately to reject what it was witnessing but lacking the proper authority to actually banish something that had apparently negotiated exemptions from basic reality protocols.

"EVERYONE BACK—"

Thor's warning came too late.

***

*BOOOOOM!*

The detonation didn't just explode.

It was erased.

Three corrupted hearts detonating simultaneously with force that temporarily overwrote reality with pure concentrated darkness, the blast wave moving faster than most divine perception could track despite enhanced senses specifically designed to catch impossible bullshit before it killed you.

Thor's reflexes saved the front lines.

Mjolnir erupted with defensive lightning that formed barriers strong enough to deflect the worst corruption, divine energy meeting malevolent void in an impact that made dimensional barriers file for stress leave.

*CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!*

Athena's tactical shields protected key positions through pre-calculated defensive formations she'd established exactly for unexpected catastrophes, because her paranoia came with mathematical precision and backup protocols that assumed Murphy's Law was being optimistic.

But the explosion still flattened everything within a three-mile radius.

The volcanic landscape ceased existing.

Not destroyed. Not damaged.

Just... gone.

Replaced by perfectly smooth obsidian glass that reflected starlight in ways suggesting the ground had become a mirror to somewhere else entirely, somewhere that probably violated multiple zoning regulations and dimensional safety codes.

Divine forces scrambled.

Healing magic flowing desperately toward casualties caught in the blast's outer edges where corruption clung to wounds like spiritual acid that actively resisted treatment.

Screams mixed with urgent commands.

The organized assault dissolving into medical triage as reality reasserted itself with the kind of hangover that came from brief exposure to fundamental wrongness.

Thor stood at the crater's edge with Mjolnir still crackling defensively.

His expression carried victory's hollow taste mixed with growing dread about implications he was only beginning to comprehend.

Because that sacrifice felt too deliberate.

Too prepared.

Like the Demon Kings had been waiting specifically for this moment rather than desperately improvising, and that made winning feel significantly less certain despite overwhelming tactical advantage.

***

"No."

Athena's voice cut through chaos with urgent clarity that made even Thor snap to attention.

Her golden eyes widened with horror that her legendary tactical mind had been outmaneuvered by an opponent she'd never directly faced, hands already tracing glowing projections that mapped Nefarynth's impossible geography with frantic precision.

"We've been played."

The admission tasted like ash.

"The fortress was always a decoy. The Demon Kings sacrificed themselves to erase ALL evidence of the Obsidian Covenant's true operations while keeping us exactly where they wanted us."

Her projections showed Nefarynth's near-infinite layers.

Labyrinthine structures folding through dimensions that made proper investigation look actively impossible without decades of careful exploration, and now the specific location that might have contained actual leads had been erased so completely even the volcanic rock stopped existing.

"We can search other fortresses–"

"There ARE no other fortresses!"

Athena's voice cracked slightly with frustration at being outmaneuvered so completely.

"Nefarynth spans dimensions. We'd need centuries to investigate thoroughly, and by then any trail would be cold enough to make absolute zero look tropical. They didn't just destroy evidence. They made investigation itself impossible while simultaneously..."

She trailed off.

The color drained from her face as tactical calculations clicked into horrifying alignment.

"While simultaneously what?"

Thor demanded, though dread was already building in his chest with uncomfortable certainty.

Athena met his gaze with an expression that carried genuine fear.

Something he'd seen maybe twice in their entire millennia-long acquaintance, and never during actual combat no matter how badly things went.

"They kept us occupied while leaving our homes vulnerable to attack."

The revelation landed like a physical blow.

***

*CRACK!*

Thor moved on pure warrior instinct.

Mjolnir became a blur of defensive lightning that intercepted something invisible streaking toward Athena's exposed back, the hammer meeting corrupted energy with an impact that made reality flinch sympathetically.

The attack dissipated against his barrier with hissing protest.

And a voice reverberated across the crater with amused respect that made everyone's blood run cold despite the volcanic heat still radiating from destroyed landscape:

"The wisdom of Athena truly lives up to legend, deducing our stratagem so quickly."

The presence felt vast yet directionless.

Speaking from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously, like someone had weaponized ambient audio and forgotten to include a mute button.

"Alas, realization comes too late for those who guard your precious sanctuaries."

The voice continued with ominous weight that suggested this wasn't a threat but a statement of fact.

"Do give my regards to the survivors when you return home."

Then it vanished.

Completely.

No dramatic exit. No lingering presence.

Just... gone, leaving only oppressive silence and the terrible understanding that while they'd fought in Nefarynth's hellscape, something catastrophic was unfolding elsewhere.

Athena's hands trembled slightly.

Tactical mind already calculating implications faster than most gods could consciously process, her voice emerging with barely controlled panic that made the legendary strategist look almost human:

"The major strongholds like Asgard and Olympus possess defenses that would repel anything short of divine-tier assault..."

She met Thor's gaze with horror bleeding through her usual composure.

"But the minor god territories scattered across Reformed Earth lack equivalent protection. And we just left them completely undefended."

The assembled forces stood frozen.

Victory transformed into something that tasted like failure wrapped in strategic catastrophe, because they'd won the battle while potentially losing something significantly more important.

And Thor's grip on Mjolnir tightened until his knuckles went white.

***

Minor mythology, Sanctuary.

The sanctuary existed in peaceful harmony that felt almost aggressively normal.

Minor gods tending gardens where flowers bloomed with gentle magic.

Mortal followers shared meals under protective wards that made reality feel safe and stable.

Children laughing without understanding how rare that sound had become since the dimensional merge turned existence into a survival exercise.

Then space itself fractured.

*CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.*

Not breaking.

Shattering, like reality was glass under impossible pressure, obsidian cracks spreading across the sky with sounds that made flowers wilt and stone develop stress fractures just from proximity.

Dimensional barriers tore open.

Forcibly ripped apart by power that shouldn't exist outside major battlefields, the ruptures bleed darkness that felt fundamentally wrong in ways that made looking at them uncomfortable.

Through these tears floated figures in dark ceremonial robes.

Dozens of them.

Marked with that distinctive twisted circular symbol that had become synonymous with coordinated catastrophe, their presence radiating corruption that killed grass beneath their feet and made the air taste like concentrated despair.

Bone-white masks hid their faces.

Somehow making their silence more terrifying than any war cry, like they didn't need to announce violence because their mere presence was enough of an announcement.

"DEFENSIVE POSITIONS!"

A minor god's voice cracked with authority trying to mask growing fear.

Weapons drawn. Magic flaring desperately.

But their expressions carried a horrified understanding that they were vastly outmatched as more cultists continued pouring through dimensional tears like an invasion force that had been planning this assault with uncomfortable precision.

One cultist drifted forward.

Taller than the others. Posture radiating command that made the rest look like a supporting cast.

Their robes bore a number engraved in silver that caught ambient light with ominous clarity:

7

Number 7… one of the Grand Elders raised their hand with almost lazy confidence.

Dark energy coalescing into forms that promised devastating violence, power condensing around their fingers in patterns that made reality itself reconsider its architectural choices.

Below them, civilians began screaming.

Running.

The terrible realization hit that their supposedly safe haven had become a battlefield against enemies who clearly possessed power far beyond what minor divine protection could repel.

Number 7's masked face tilted slightly.

Observing the chaos with detached interest, like a scientist watching an experiment unfold according to predicted parameters.

Then their voice emerged cold and authoritarian, carrying across the sanctuary with horrible clarity:

"Begin the harvest."

The cultists moved as one.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.