Buddha's breathing had become rough, each inhale a struggle against both physical pain and the crushing weight of Poseidon's words. His staff, once radiant with conviction, now flickered uncertainly, a mirror to the turmoil brewing within its wielder's heart.
Four losses. Four warriors fallen.
The thought echoed in Buddha's mind like a death knell. Lu Bu's shattered pride, Adam's burned-out eyes, Sasaki's blood pooling on the arena floor, Raiden's body reduced to ash, each image carved itself into his consciousness with surgical precision.
"You're silent now," Poseidon observed, his voice devoid of triumph or mockery. It was simply a statement of fact, which somehow made it worse. "Finally seeing the truth?"
Buddha raised his head, meeting Poseidon's gaze. For the first time since entering the arena, genuine uncertainty flickered across his face. "I..."
The words died in his throat.
In the Valkyrie section, Brunhilde's nails dug deeper into her palms. She knew it was nigh- impossible winning against their very creators but she still had to try. But watching Buddha falter now (Buddha, whose enlightenment should have made him almost unshakeable) she felt the first real tendrils of despair.
"Sister..." Göll whispered, her voice trembling. "Is Lord Buddha going to..."
"No," Brunhilde cut her off sharply, though her own voice lacked conviction. "He won't. He can't."
But even as she spoke, she knew the truth. Four consecutive losses had not just depleted humanity's roster; it had shattered something more fundamental, HOPE
Among the gods, reactions varied. Zeus remained seated, his expression one of paternal satisfaction, as if watching a wayward child finally learn a necessary lesson. Shiva looked uncomfortable, perhaps remembering how Raiden had earned his respect even in defeat. Thor was impassive as always, but there was something in his eyes: not pity, but acknowledgment of a fellow warrior's struggle.
Loki alone seemed genuinely entertained. "Oh, this is an interesting turn of events. The Great Buddha, having his enlightenment picked apart piece by piece. Uncle, are you watching this?"
Odin said nothing, his single eye fixed on the arena with unreadable intensity.
Why did I choose this path?
The question arose unbidden, and with it came a flood of memories. Buddha remembered the prince he once was, sheltered from suffering until the day he ventured beyond palace walls. He remembered the sick, the elderly, the dying: the fundamental truth of human suffering that had driven him to seek enlightenment.
But Poseidon's words had planted a seed of doubt: What if that enlightenment was built on a flawed premise?
"Humans suffer," Buddha said quietly, more to himself than to Poseidon. "But they endure. They grow. They,"
"They die," Poseidon interrupted, his voice clinical. "They suffer, yes. They struggle, yes. And then they die, having accomplished nothing that will not be forgotten within a few generations. You speak of their resilience as if it matters, but resilience in service of futility is simply a longer path to the same destination."
Buddha's staff dimmed further. His soul-reading ability, which should have been warning him of Poseidon's next attack, felt distant, as if his own uncertainty had created static in his perception.
Is he right? Have I been clinging to a beautiful lie?
"I've seen humanity at its best," Buddha argued, but his voice had lost its earlier conviction. "I've witnessed their capacity for compassion, for sacrifice, for,"
"For defeats? Four Consecutive defeats," Poseidon stated flatly. "Tell me, Buddha, when you look at humanity now, what do you see? Hope? Or the desperate tantrum of creatures who know their time is ending?"
Buddha's legs trembled. Not just from physical exhaustion, but from the weight of accumulated doubt. He thought of the human warriors who had believed they could change fate. Each had fought with everything they possessed. Each had died.
Will my death change anything? Or will it just be one more name added to the list of more futile sacrifices?
"You're beginning to doubt, aren't you?" Poseidon asked, and for the first time, there was something almost resembling understanding in his voice. "You're wondering if your sacrifice will matter. If humanity is worth this price."
Buddha's grip on his staff loosened slightly. "I..."
"There is no shame in doubt, Buddha," Poseidon continued, his tone strangely gentle now (the gentleness of a predator certain of its kill). "Doubt is the first step toward wisdom. You sought enlightenment once. Perhaps it is time to seek it again, this time unburdened by misplaced loyalty to creatures who cannot save themselves."
The arena held its breath. Even the most bloodthirsty gods had fallen silent, sensing the state Buddha was in.
Buddha closed his eyes. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he saw them all: Lu Bu's vicious roar, Adam's gentle smile as he protected his children one last time, Sasaki's determination even as blood filled his lungs, Raiden's tears of joy at finally finding a worthy opponent.
They all died believing they could make a difference.
Were they fools? Was I a fool for believing in them?
When Buddha opened his eyes again, something had changed. The inner light that had always defined him (the serene confidence of one who had achieved enlightenment) had dimmed to barely a flicker.
Poseidon saw it immediately. "You understand now."
"I..." Buddha's voice was hoarse. "I don't know what I understand anymore."
"Then allow me to show you mercy," Poseidon said, and there was no mockery in his words, only the absolute certainty of a god who had never doubted his nature. "I will not kill you, Buddha. That would be a waste. Instead, I will let you live with the weight of your doubts. Let you watch as humanity falls, one by one, until there is nothing left but the dying echo of their screams."
Before Buddha could respond, Poseidon moved.
It was not the overwhelming barrage of 'Medusa Alope Demeter.' It was not the casual dismissiveness with which he had fought Sasaki. This was something different: a single, precise strike delivered with surgical precision.
Buddha's soul-reading activated reflexively, showing him the future: Poseidon's trident aimed not at his heart, but at his solar plexus. A disabling blow, not a killing one.
I can dodge this. I can,
But Buddha didn't move.
Perhaps it was exhaustion. Perhaps it was the accumulated weight of doubt. Perhaps, in that moment, some part of him wanted the decision taken out of his hands.
The trident struck true.
Buddha gasped, his body seizing as divine energy flooded through him: not destroying, but paralyzing. His staff clattered to the ground, its light extinguishing completely. He fell to his knees, then collapsed forward, his body refusing to obey his commands.
Poseidon stood over him, trident held loosely at his side. "You are not dead, Buddha," he said clearly, his voice carrying to every corner of the arena. "But you are defeated. Let this serve as a reminder, to gods and humans alike, of what happens when one forgets their place."
Heimdall's horn sounded, though his usual enthusiasm was notably absent. "The winner is... Poseidon, God of the Seas!"
The divine section erupted in cheers, though many gods seemed more relieved than celebratory. Zeus stood, a broad smile on his face.
The human section was silent as a tomb.
Buddha lay on the arena floor, conscious but unable to move, forced to stare at the sky above. His eyes were open, but they no longer held the serene confidence that had defined him. Instead, there was only confusion, pain, and the terrible weight of unanswered questions.
Was I wrong? Were they all wrong? Is Poseidon right about everything?
As medical attendants rushed to collect Buddha's paralyzed form, Poseidon turned and walked away without looking back, just as he had after defeating Sasaki. To him, this had been nothing more than another inevitable victory, another reminder of the natural order of things.
But as Buddha was carried from the arena, still unable to move, still unable to speak, one thought circled endlessly through his mind:
Five losses. Five warrior fallen. And I wasn't even given the luxury of death like them.
In the Valkyrie section, Brunhilde watched Buddha's removal with a face carved from stone. Five rounds complete. Five defeats. The gods were proving, again and again, that humanity's struggle was futile.
But somewhere deep in her eyes, buried beneath layers of fear and doubt, a dangerous spark remained. Not hope; hope was too gentle a word for what burned there. This was something harder, colder, more desperate.
Despair, An Overwhelming sense of Despair.
This isn't over. It can't be over. We've come too far to surrender now.
The gods may have won five battles, but the war for humanity's survival was far from finished. And if Buddha's defeat had taught them anything, it was that conviction alone was not enough. They needed something more: something even the gods couldn't predict or counter.
They needed a miracle.
Or perhaps, something even more dangerous than that.
Score: Gods 5 - Humanity 0
The arena slowly emptied, gods departing in triumph while humans shuffled out in defeated silence. But in the medical wing, Buddha's eyes remained open, staring at nothing, his mind trapped in an endless loop of doubt and self-recrimination.
Poseidon had kept his word. He had not killed the Enlightened One.
He had done something far worse: he had shattered him mentally.