Chapter 245: Light (Part 2)

Sakaar's climate constantly alternates between extreme cold and extreme heat; when summer arrives, scorching winds blow through blackened meteor craters, surge over red rock mountains, sweep across countless roaring mines, and reach the towering arena, where the crowd's deafening cheers are louder than the wind.

The Grand Arena of Sakaar is one of the most famous arenas in the universe; it was not built by the new Sakaarians, but is a relic of the previous civilization, bearing the marks of Sakaar's ancient past—rugged and wild in its beauty.

The Five Dynasties: Wind and Moon Over River and Mountain

Wooden pillars, stacked above solid stone columns, are carved with unique ancient Sakaaran magical patterns; through the gaps between the columns, the arena's center churns with heat, the broken bricks and stones unable to cover the entire ground, and the new Sakaarians lack the means to repair it, leaving the surface patchy and uneven.

On either side of the arena stand two elevated platforms constructed of steel and machinery—creations of the new Sakaarians; on one platform stands the current ruler of Sakaar—the "Red King" Amo Yashan.

Two towering Sakaaran guards stand behind him, spears in hand, guarding their emperor.

Opposite the Red King, on the other platform, stands the renowned High Celestial, who differs from the Sakaarians—his skin is not red, but a vivid blue, covered in golden runes across his forehead.

He sits upon a special chair; his guards are not as tall as the Sakaarians, but all wear magical robes, surrounded by swirling arcane energy.

At this moment, two aliens are fighting in the arena; though calling them "aliens" is inaccurate—one is an alien, the other a bizarre, monstrous beast, resembling the giant insect that once pulled the Red King's cart, a unique Sakaaran aberration.

The battle rages fiercely; the alien fighter is covered in wounds, yet the Red King and the High Celestial watch with growing excitement.

Suddenly, the alien feints a roll, tricking the sluggish giant insect, then severs one of its legs; the creature, enraged by pain, lashes out with its spined tail, flinging the gladiator into the air, then turns and bites off his head—the fight ends.

Both the High Celestial and the Red King are displeased, but the other spectators erupt in cheers at the sight of death and blood.

The arena's atmosphere grows more fevered; Prince Yashan, standing behind the Red King, steps forward and whispers something to his father; the guards behind the Red King cross their spears, the metal shafts clashing sharply, silencing the crowd.

"... e all know that in this universe, there exists a race that calls itself divine—powerful, warlike, once ravaging the cosmos, striking terror into countless civilizations..."

"Today, our noble and mighty guest, the High Celestial, has brought us one of them; and my younger son, the future heir of Sakaar, your prince, has brought us another..."

The Red King raises his voice: "Let us witness how these self-proclaimed perfect beings of the universe—the Aesir—perform when they turn upon each other!"

Beneath the mechanical platforms are two large gates—the gladiators' preparation zone; two fighters will emerge from these gates and enter the arena.

Amid the crowd's roar, the gate on the Red King's side opens first—out walks Thor.

Just as the Red King is about to announce the next gladiator's entrance, the High Celestial clears his throat: "He is no ordinary Aesir. Allow me to introduce him..."

The Red King shows no annoyance at the interruption; he raises an eyebrow, intrigued, glancing at his son. Prince Yashan is stunned—he knows nothing of Thor's true identity—but the High Celestial's words shock him: "The man before you... yes, him—you may not recognize him, but he is famed throughout the cosmos: the son of Odin, Prince and heir of Asgard, Asgard's most valiant warrior!"

The crowd falls silent for an instant, then erupts in uproar—this revelation shocks everyone, including the Red King and Prince Yashan.

Unlike the High Celestial, an elder of the Cosmic Council, they are merely planetary royalty, unconnected to the universe's great powers; they have never seen Odin or Asgard's armies, and thus have never laid eyes on Thor.

More importantly, Thor is Asgard's noble eldest prince—but now he is gaunt, haggard, indistinguishable from the slave miners tortured for years in the mines.

He wears none of the armor Prince Yashan provided him, not even the padded undergarments; his original clothes are tattered, and he holds his spear not as a weapon, but as a crutch to support his weary body.

Prince Yashan, stunned, bursts into laughter; the other Sakaarians join in, their shrill laughter echoing around Thor.

Yet he does not react as he once did—no bull-like snorts, no roaring rage, no swinging weapons to kill these insolent vermin.

Thor stands calmly at the arena's center, letting the malicious mockery wash over him like waves; a sharp will, almost visible, surges from his eyes, forming razor-edged blades of light around him.

As the laughter and murmurs fade, the High Celestial speaks again: "And conveniently, the Aesir I captured—a fool who walked straight into my trap—is also an Asgardian prince..."

"They are not only both princes of Asgard—they are brothers." The High Celestial smiles. "Thus, you will not merely witness a struggle between Asgardian heirs—you will witness brothers turned enemies, kin killing kin."

At these words, Thor finally reacts; his eyes widen, and he turns to look at the High Celestial, who sneers: "That cunning brat set a trap for me, stole my wager—damned liar. How could I let him escape?"

"But I spared his life... just to wait for today..."

Then Thor sees the gate opposite him slowly open—and from the shadows emerges Loki.

Thor cannot believe his eyes; he squeezes them shut, then opens them again.

But it is indeed Loki.

Suddenly, Thor realizes—his eyes ignite with furious rage. This is another damn trick!

But before he can unleash his fury, he freezes—Loki looks utterly broken.

Loki walks slowly from the arena gate, struggling to maintain dignity, yet his condition is horrific.

A chain binds his left wrist, blood dripping steadily onto the ground; his body is covered in wounds—a deep, bone-exposing gash runs from his left shoulder to his right lower back, soaking his clothes in blood.

His face is as pale as paper; barely through the gate, he collapses to one knee, gasping for breath. Thor's rage is trapped in his chest; he grits his teeth at Loki: "You tricked me again, didn't you?!"

"... ricked you?" Loki's voice reaches him—labored, thick with pain.

"Was the Bifrost attack fake? Was my body destroyed fake? Or..." Loki swallows with difficulty, coughs twice—Thor smells thick blood. He hears Loki say: "... re your own divine power and divine office fake?"

Thor freezes.

Earlier, consumed by despair over Loki's death, he had never tapped into his own divine power. Now, focusing, he feels the unique fire god's power and office surging within him—since Odin banished him to Earth, he has not felt such fullness in years.

Loki can possess only one divine office and one divine power—this is an unchangeable rule of Asgard. Now, the fire god's office and power reside in Thor—meaning Loki has lost all his strength, and can no longer cast illusions or illusions.

Meaning... Thor strides forward to Loki, and the moment his hand touches Loki's shoulder, he knows—the wounds are real. Thor draws a sharp breath.

Loki has never suffered wounds this severe.

All Asgardian mages avoid frontline combat; they remain behind the lines, casting disruption spells. Loki has fought on battlefields, but never at the front—thus, he rarely suffered injuries.

Thor remembers: Loki's worst wound came once, when an assassin slipped behind the lines and struck him with an arrow—just a graze on his arm. It healed in under two hours, but Frigga wept for three days, and ever since, she spoke of it for five hundred years.

Thor feels dizzy, his fingers trembling; the heavy stench of blood from Loki overwhelms him—he never imagined a seasoned warrior like himself would feel faint from the smell of blood.

"Get away." Loki says.

"Loki... Loki, tell me—what happened?" Thor stumbles back two steps.

Loki coughs violently; his chest heaves, tearing his wound wider—but the High Celestial and the Red King are displeased with this "sentimental" exchange; they want bloodshed.

The High Celestial raises a hand; a flash of magical light dances between his fingers—Loki screams as magical rings flare across his body.

Now Thor understands—the source of Loki's massive wound: the magical rings are slicing into his flesh, forcing him to shriek.

The High Celestial says: "Attack him! Loki! This is the arena—no matter who he was, no matter your bond—he is your enemy now..."

"If you do not attack him, you will die. Do you understand?!"

The magical rings vanish; Loki collapses to the ground, motionless. His heavy breathing is the only sound—except for a faint, unheard whisper of wind stirring dust.

That sharp will begins to solidify; tiny whirlwinds rise at Thor's feet; his grip on the spear trembles.

As the High Celestial and the Red King laugh at Loki's suffering, from the distant horizon of Sakaar, a low, rumbling roar echoes—

This planet, which never rains, has thundered.