Happy New Year! And on the occasion of the New Year, we have three chapters today.
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"Tsk, tsk… that woman really is stubborn."
In the early morning sunlight filtering through the villa windows, Leon sat leisurely in his chair, wine glass in hand, looking uncharacteristically relaxed. His mind, however, drifted back to the days he had just spent in Helheim.
The so-called Hundred-Day War with Hela might have been a slight exaggeration—but her combat prowess had been undeniable.
As the daughter of Odin, she carried divine blood from birth. Once she awakened her microcosm, her life level and combat power had been rising steadily, day by day. Her strength was terrifying.
Her will was even more so.
Stubborn, unyielding, relentless—she had tried to pressure Leon in every possible way.
And Leon? He was never one to back down.
How could he tolerate being suppressed?
His own microcosm had long surpassed the threshold of the infinite, approaching the realm where it could fully merge with the cosmos. Soon, once he completely awakened it, he would refine the Aquarius Gold Cloth into a Divine Cloth through the divine blood of Athena—
and step into the Ninth Sense, the true domain of gods.
Hela, poor little Hela, hadn't even reached the Eighth Sense yet. The gap was enormous.
So naturally, she had been left… well, let's just say in ruins.
Still, Leon wasn't worried. Hela's divine constitution meant her recovery was only a matter of time.
He swirled his wine with a faint smile. "Ah, that stubborn woman. She'll be back to scowling in no time."
The house was quiet for once. The young ones had gone to training or school, leaving behind only Pudding, Black Panther, and three energetic puppies.
The little ones chased each other across the marble floors while Pudding and Black Panther lazed contentedly by Leon's feet. Everything felt peaceful.
But then—
Leon's eyes narrowed.
A sudden tremor ran through his consciousness, and vivid images flashed across his mind.
"Hmm?"
He froze. The world around him seemed to blur, replaced by another—a landscape of chaos and ruin.
He was standing amidst a battlefield of gods. The air was thick with the stench of death. The sky itself was torn open, bleeding light.
Mountains of corpses.
Seas of divine blood.
Weapons impaled the earth like a forest of death.
And high above it all, upon a mound of bodies, stood a figure—a tall being clad in rags, holding a massive, ominous black sword that pulsed like it was alive.
That figure's eyes were cold. Ruthless. Empty.
Leon's gaze met his—
—and the universe itself trembled.
Two supreme wills collided, shaking existence to its core. The scene shattered like glass, and in an instant—
Leon was back in his villa.
He sat motionless, brows furrowed, murmuring:
"So… that was a fixed node of the future?"
He pondered deeply.
Ever since the Sacred Timeline fractured and bled into countless branches, even the greatest beings—the Ancient One with her Time Stone, Odin in his divine foresight, even Leon himself—could no longer see the future clearly.
Every second birthed millions, even billions, of alternate futures.
The future had become opaque—a swirling chaos of probabilities.
But sometimes, those who stood at Leon's level could catch fragments of what must come to pass—visions intertwined with their own fate.
And this one… was clearly tied to him.
The gods were dead.
The sky bled.
And that man with the black sword…
Leon's eyes darkened. "A god-killer…?"
His mind flashed through the memories of his past life. There was one name that matched.
Gorr, the God Butcher.
Gorr had been born on a barren world—a planet of drought and death.
When his people prayed to their gods for salvation, none came.
His tribe starved. His wife and children died in his arms.
And still, his people worshipped their gods.
When Gorr finally cursed them—accusing the heavens of cruelty and silence—his tribe exiled him, calling him blasphemer.
He wandered the desert, dying beneath the relentless sun… until one day, two figures fell from the sky.
Two gods, locked in mortal combat.
One black as shadow, the other radiant with light.
They crashed into the sands before him.
In his rage, Gorr staggered toward them, screaming his hatred. The shining god called him an insect and struck him aside.
But from the other, darker god, a living weapon slithered forth—
a blade forged from the living essence of a symbiote, pure darkness given form.
The All-Black Necrosword.
It bonded to Gorr, merging with his flesh and soul.
And with one swing, he killed a god.
Thus began his crusade—the war of a mortal turned executioner, a being who swore there would be no gods left in the universe.
The Black Death Sword, born from the abyss of Knull, the Symbiote God.
A weapon forged to slay the Celestials themselves.
With every god it slew, its wielder grew stronger.
Each divine soul devoured, each sacred heart consumed.
According to the ancient timeline, Gorr would become the nightmare of gods across all realities. Though he would die, his legacy—his resurrected daughter, Love—would endure.
But why, Leon wondered, had he now seen that future?
And why did it feel… personal?
Gorr was powerful, yes. But not that powerful.
Even armed with the Necrosword, he was no match for Leon—not for one who had ascended through the power of Athena's Cosmos and the Saint Seiya system of divinity.
The gap between gods was as vast as the cosmos itself.
Yet something about this vision unsettled him.
Could the timeline have shifted? Could Gorr's destiny have changed—elevated into something far greater than recorded?
Or was it not Gorr at all?
Leon wasn't sure. But one thing was certain—
someone, or something, capable of killing gods was moving.
And sooner or later, it would cross paths with him and the Sanctuary.
Leon's eyes glowed gold.
In a single thought, the cosmos unfolded within his mind. Stars turned like gears; galaxies shifted; countless streams of data flowed before his gaze.
His awareness spread across the Milky Way.
Then—he found it.
A planet, primitive and sun-scorched.
A world mourning its god.
Below, starving mortals knelt before a divine corpse impaled by a golden spear. The god's armor shimmered faintly; his blood was gold, pooling across the sands.
But his eyes were empty. His soul… gone.
The people wept, their faith shattered.
Who will protect us now?
They prayed—but the heavens were silent.
Until a new presence descended.
A vast, golden light poured across the planet. Oceans roared; mountains trembled. Every living creature bowed in instinctive reverence.
And from that light, Leon appeared.
Hovering above them, he looked down—not at the mortals, but at the slain god.
Focusing his divine sight, he replayed the echoes lingering in the corpse's energy.
A Sub-Father God, drained of life and soul.
He rewound time.
Reality reversed before his eyes—blood flowed back into veins, the body stood again—
and then he saw it.
The killer.
A bald man in a white robe, skin ashen-gray, wielding the Black Death Sword.
Leon watched him slaughter the god effortlessly, drain his essence, and impale him into the ground like a trophy.
Then, just as the killer turned, his face twisted in sudden dread—as though he sensed something greater watching him.
The Necrosword's black vortex flared, and the man vanished.
Moments later, the villagers arrived, weeping. Ten seconds after that—Leon himself materialized.
"So it really is Gorr the God Butcher," Leon murmured, narrowing his eyes.
"The Black Death Sword… that thing truly lives up to its name."
It was, quite literally, a God-Eater—a weapon that devoured vitality and divine souls, endlessly amplifying its wielder's power.
Each kill strengthened it. Each god slain fed the blade's hunger.
And once struck, not even resurrection could save the victim.
No wonder the ancient gods—Zeus, Odin, and the rest—had once united to flee from him, hiding in realms Gorr could not reach.
Even Zeus, the once-fearless Lord of Olympus, had long since grown weak, corrupted by indulgence and vice. When Leon peered deeper into the vision, he even glimpsed Zeus's corpse among the countless slain.
"So that's how it ends," Leon said softly. "Even the thunderer of Olympus falls."
A faint smile curved his lips. "Interesting. Very interesting."
"Could it be," he mused aloud, "that this mysterious God-Slayer sensed the rise of the Sanctuary… and chose to accelerate his war—to strike before our light fully spreads across the cosmos?"
Whether the killer was truly Gorr or something far beyond him, one thing was now certain—
Leon, and the Sanctuary itself, had been marked.
Somewhere in the depths of the galaxy, a black blade had begun to stir.
And even Leon's all-seeing cosmos could not yet find the ship that carried it.
(End of Chapter)
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