Sif stood frozen, her gaze fixed on Thor.
If they retreated now, perhaps they could save him. Yet the battlefield was still alive with chaos. Leaving the main ship would mean losing its support, abandoning their forces in the midst of an overwhelming enemy. The war would spiral further out of control.
The conflict tore at her. On one side was the life of someone she loved; on the other, the lives of countless Asgardians and the fate of the battle itself. She wavered, torn between duty and heart.
Then the flagship shook violently. Alarms blared, lights flashing red, and a stern voice echoed through the corridors:
"Attention all units, the warship is under attack. Please take protective measures."
Sif's resolve crystallized. The battle here was unsalvageable. To sit and wait for death was pointless. Thor's life mattered more than pride or prideful defiance. She ran toward the control room.
After some persuasion, Lucy, faced with dwindling energy on the main ship, reluctantly agreed to retreat. But before leaving, she chose to venture outside, standing with the soldiers who could not flee.
As the flagship departed, morale on the battlefield collapsed. Some Asgardian warriors, believing Odin had fallen, abandoned their posts and fled. In the vacuum of space, escape was impossible; they could only retreat to the flagship. Chaos spread among the warships, disrupting formations and attacks. Losses multiplied, and Asgard's defeat loomed ever closer.
Meanwhile, within a distant star system, Odin and Thanos fought relentlessly, streaking toward another planet. Odin had not wanted to go there—but Thanos pressed him, forcing him into a position of exhaustion.
The planet loomed before him, icy and massive. He immediately recognized Thanos's intention: to drag him into the planet's atmosphere, exhausting his energy further. Anxiety gnawed at Odin. Thor's condition remained unknown, the battlefield unstable, and every moment could tip the scales toward disaster. Neither the death of his son nor a defeat on the battlefield was acceptable.
As a blow pushed him to the edge of the planet's atmosphere, Odin's expression hardened with resolve.
"Thanos… you leave me no choice!" he roared.
A golden light erupted from his body. Muscles swelled as power surged through him, hair turning gold in a flash. The old, stooped figure of Odin vanished, replaced by the image of a man in his thirties, brimming with strength and divine presence.
The transformation sent a shockwave tearing through the planet's tenuous atmosphere. Powerful gusts of wind lashed against his body, and clouds above darkened as lightning began to flash across the sky. The dramatic chain reaction was caused by the thinning atmosphere: low pressure vaporized water, steam billowed upward, and massive static charges created violent lightning.
To Odin, the lightning was little more than a tickle. But Thanos's expression grew serious. Even now, this old god had a trick left in reserve—one that demanded attention.
Purple energy surged violently around Thanos. The destructive power within him had reached its limit. Odin's aura, golden and unrelenting, stopped expanding—steady, ferocious, controlled.
"You're only the second to force me to use this," Odin said with a predatory grin. "Even if you die, you can consider it an honor."
With a roar, the Spear of Eternity seemed to grow. From 2.2 meters, it lengthened to 3.2 meters, its form twisting and reshaping into a terrifying weapon of raw ferocity.
"Go to hell!" Odin bellowed.
In a single instant, he closed the distance, a kilometer traversed in a heartbeat, appearing directly before Thanos. Divine Descent—this transformation, Odin's last resort, carried side effects. It shortened his lifespan, would leave him in premature slumber afterward, and weakened him for days. Yet the situation left him no choice.
Ding! The two divine artifacts collided. The force shattered lightning bolts in the sky, dispersing raw energy across the barren landscape. Thanos felt the pressure of Odin's power for the first time.
The golden light around Odin's spear fragmented into multiple spearheads, piercing through the purple aura surrounding Thanos. Clang! Clang! Clang! Some struck his Tyrant Armor, others grazed bare skin. The blows, though formidable, barely left a mark.
Odin stared in disbelief. Even these manifested spearheads—half the hardness of vibranium—could not penetrate Thanos's exposed flesh. How thick-skinned must this being be?
Thanos's faint smile conveyed his confidence. A warrior in the truest sense: high attack, high defense, high health. Minimal damage, no matter how much energy Odin poured in.
With a swift motion, Thanos gripped his Tyrant Blade in one hand, fist clenched in the other, and punched.
Bang! Odin's armor shuddered under the impact, but damage was negligible. The durability rivaled even the most formidable armors in the universe.
A flush of frustration crossed Odin's face. He clenched his fist and countered with a punch of his own.
Bang!
The strike met resistance of equal strength. Thanos's defenses were impossible to breach. Odin exhaled sharply, understanding the stakes. This was no ordinary battle. Both combatants had reached a point where raw strength alone was insufficient—only strategy, energy management, and exploiting minor openings would matter.
The cosmic battlefield seemed to hold its breath as the two titans faced off, each strike echoing through space, each movement a calculated decision that could alter the fate of worlds.
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