Chapter 410

Loji emitted a dying cry; blood gushing from her chest, mixed with fragments of organs, revealed to Thor the shattered pieces of her heart being dragged out by the spear and scattered on the ground like a blooming flower.

Blood spurted from her chest, staining the long hair behind her; her arms trembled twice before collapsing lifelessly to the ground, her upturned gaze landing directly on Thor's prison door.

Thor saw her eyes gradually lose their light, then he heard the general speak with disdain: "A new king?"

"Loki, you are unworthy."

"Never were."

He shook his spear, then turned away, utterly unaware that as Loji's life faded, the magical barrier slowly dissolved.

In a dimension not far from Asgard, the World Serpent Yemeng gasped for breath, cursing Loki as he surveyed his mangled body; he immediately used his power to call the Sanctum, then roared: "You promised to guarantee the transactions between demon gods! That damn Loki tricked me!"

"Oh? How did he trick you?" came a customer service voice from the other end; Yemeng continued to rage at Loki, while the customer service agent calmly soothed him: "Sir, we must hear the full account before we can judge—please begin from the beginning..."

"... h, is that so?... I see... Yes, that's true..."

"So that's how it was... Could you elaborate on that part? I understand, I understand... it was indeed rather extreme..."

While Yemeng was venting to the Sanctum customer service, he failed to notice that in a nearby dimension, a portal opened, and a furtive figure peered out.

First emerged a black panther, then a haughty lion, followed by a golden-feathered bird; after them, a flood of animals poured forth.

They roared at each other, as if communicating; though their roars differed, one syllable remained identical—if translated into human language, that word was "Sanctum."

Then, this strange group of animals opened another portal, entering Yemeng's dimension; when Yemeng saw these tiny creatures, he was stunned.

What even are these things? Lions, panthers, birds, cats, badgers...

And they chattered incessantly; Yemeng's head throbbed with the noise. He lashed out with his tail, expecting to crush them into pulp—but suddenly, the black panther extended a claw, a flash of cold light, and Yemeng's tail bore three new wounds.

Yemeng erupted in fury: I can't beat Loki, but I'll crush you?!

With a surge of energy, Yemeng opened his massive jaws and lunged at the animals.

But the animals didn't fight back; using their small size, they scratched here and nipped there. When Yemeng attacked, they fled; when he chased, they vanished—only to strike his vital points again when he stopped. Enraged, Yemeng chased them relentlessly.

Honestly, if this had been a stronger demon god, Yemeng would've fled immediately—he wouldn't have chased. His condition was poor; he'd just been beaten by Loji. If he met a real threat, couldn't he just run?

But these little creatures showed zero intimidation. They didn't look like powerful cosmic demon gods—they were clearly just common Earth animals.

The fury of a tiger brought low by dogs was overwhelming; it drove Yemeng to chase them without pause, utterly unaware he was drawing nearer to Asgard, the place he'd just escaped.

As he chased, the animals dwindled—until only the black panther, the one who'd first clawed him, remained. Then Yemeng saw it: the panther's face wore a distinctly human sneer before vanishing.

156n.

Yemeng felt a flicker of pride: Scared of me now?! Even wounded, you pathetic little demon gods dare not provoke me!

As he paused to survey his surroundings, he suddenly froze: Huh? This is Asgard? How did I come back?

Doesn't matter—better flee fast. If Odin wakes up, I'll be boiled into serpent stew.

Thinking this, Yemeng turned to flee—when suddenly, an incomparable force descended upon the space; in that instant, the entire universe turned white.

As in the dawn of creation, when all things were lit by a single bolt of lightning, after the blinding radiance, the white coalesced into a bolt of lightning that flew to a figure clad in armor—he stood motionless in the cosmos, and every star and thing became his sovereign domain.

Yemeng stared at the familiar yet alien figure and cried: "Thor?!"

"Yemeng!"

The moment Thor's furious roar rang out, Yemeng knew disaster was upon him.

This was not the Thor he knew!

Where was the promise of mutual destruction?!

Is this thing something I could destroy with myself?!

It wasn't that Yemeng was overreacting—the prophecy said he would perish alongside Thor. But this Thor before him bore no resemblance to the Thunder God.

Aside from the spear in his hand, which might loosely relate to Thor's divine role, the power radiating from him—the primordial lightning of creation itself—was immeasurably higher than Thor's divine rank.

Yemeng spun on his tail and fled—but it was too late.

The entire dimension was sealed by a vast net, its divine power emanating from the very animals he'd chased in panic.

Calling them "animals" was no longer accurate: the black panther's claws now dwarfed Yemeng's head, radiating unknown energy, its eyes like twin blazing suns; the lion's back glowed golden, its mane stirring without wind; the golden-feathered bird spread its wings, and the entire universe seemed swallowed beneath them.

Yemeng's serpent mind went numb—then he realized: this was a trap! From Loki, to Thor, to these animal gods—it was all one seamless trap!

As the demon gods surged upon him, tearing his flesh apart, Yemeng roared the name: "Loki!"

Soon, the colossal serpent body shifted from illusion to reality, then was sliced into pieces by countless forces; the animal gods swarmed, dividing the corpse and its power; Thor, filled with rage, returned to Asgard.

He saw armored warriors awaiting him; Thor noticed not only flattery in their eyes, but deep disappointment.

What were they disappointed in?

Thor felt no need to ask himself—his heart already held the answer: they were disappointed he hadn't died alongside Yemeng, as foretold.

And now, he suddenly found it absurd.

The prophecy said that after his death alongside Yemeng, Asgard would enter Ragnarök—but now, these people were disappointed he hadn't died immediately, so they could seize the vacant throne and claim maximum power before their own end.

Thor suddenly saw the true face of the kingdom he once loved: the only true patriots were the royal family, who exhausted themselves, sacrificed everything, just to avert Ragnarök.

But the people of Asgard never cared.

Faced with prophecy, they trembled in fear; faced with power, they grew greedy and cold.

Thor stood motionless in midair, watching the thousand faces below, and suddenly remembered his days on Earth.

Those same ugly, incomprehensible humans should have taught him long ago: wherever there is intelligence, wherever there is humanity, there can be no perfect divine race.

The generals bowed their heads before Thor, whose body surged with overwhelming power, praising him as always.

But what awaited them was not Thor's old camaraderie, his laughter, nor Odin's former praise and celebration.

What they received was a bolt of destruction.

Asgard—the beautiful, ancient, complex, mysterious realm, the empire that once conquered the cosmos and reached its zenith—henceforth had a new king—

And only one new king.

Meanwhile, in Schiller's Mind Palace, he hovered at the ceiling, directing a giant serpent to coil around the top of Gao Ta as a wall; Yemeng roared: "So you're the real trickster!"

"Enough talk. You have no body now—you live here. I'm your pope, not your parent. I have no duty to house a thousand-year-old snake who can't pay rent."

"Hurry, shift left a bit—don't you see your floor is crooked?"

The serpent's soul reluctantly shifted; Schiller watched the tower rise another tenth and nodded, stroking his chin: "Psychology doesn't build tall. Physics stacks faster."

"How long must I stay?!" Yemeng snapped. Schiller flew to his head and said: "Until you pay your rent."

"I've never met a pope like you!"

"You've never met any pope."

Yemeng exhaled a gust of air, trying to blow Schiller away—he found this cunning human unbearable.

"Don't be angry. Even if the prophecy came true, you'd only have died alongside Thor. Now, at least you're alive."

"If it weren't for that, do you think I'd just be cursing you?!"

Yemeng snorted, then rested his head on his coiled body, closing his eyes, refusing further communication.

On Earth, Wakanda, the Panther God returned to his dimension, gazing at T'Challa still lying on the ground, wreathed in black energy; he sighed, then pulled a piece of serpent skin from nowhere, his claw flashing—cutting it into a perfect circle.

Soon, he heard a knock; opening the dimensional door, Schiller appeared before him. The Panther God impatiently took the umbrella from his hand; moments later, a new umbrella—its canopy made of World Serpent skin—was complete.

After making the umbrella, Schiller tapped the shaft with his finger, then pressed the tip against T'Challa's forehead; the black energy was swiftly drawn back into the shaft.

"How's the new member's welcome gift?"

The black panther growled " Ao," but Schiller understood: it meant "Not good!"

The Panther God opened a portal, gesturing for Schiller to leave; as Schiller stepped through, he found himself in his own sanatorium office—where another figure waited: Natasha.

Schiller greeted her and asked: "How's the damage? That lightning was brutal, right?"

"Yes, this bank's history is too old—this strike won't be repairable," Natasha shook her head, speaking with measured cadence: "But it's not your fault, Director Arkham."

"Regrettably, you'll have to relocate to the luxury private resort on the west side of New York, and convert it into a new sanatorium."

"Oh, I've heard of that place—the owner was deported back to Russia. Frankly, I'm hesitant to use a place once owned by a Russian..."

"But it's a seaside resort—with a large healing center, private hospital, golf course, horse ranch..."

"Greedy Russian."

Natasha nodded in agreement: "Greedy Russian."

As night fell, Schiller fondly examined his new umbrella, then stood and gazed out the floor-to-ceiling window at New York's night sky—where one star shone with exceptional brilliance.

Schiller's gaze crossed countless stars, pierced through layers of dimensions, and saw that beautiful, ancient realm.

He lowered his head, lifted the umbrella again, and said:

"Look—a beautiful new umbrella."