"Then what are you hesitating for? Do it!"
Loki, holding Thor's seemingly lifeless body, closed his eyes, sorrow etched deep into his face. Two tears slipped silently down his cheeks, betraying the heartache he could no longer contain.
He had always believed the throne of the gods was his ultimate goal, but now, in the wake of Thor's "death," he finally understood—like a child waking from a nightmare—what truly mattered to him.
His struggle for the throne had only ever been to prove himself to his father, to show he was no less capable than his brothers. Killing had been a means to an end, a tool to assert authority, but never the heart of his desire. Family, kinship—these were worth a hundred times more than power.
Loki's sudden vulnerability almost bewildered Gilgamesh. Is this your script? Who are you trying to impress with all this sentimentality? You're making me look like the worst villain here!
Still, the act had to continue. After coming this far, any hesitation would render all prior efforts meaningless.
"Since you're so eager to die, I'll grant your wish!" Gilgamesh's lips curved into a cruel, arrogant smile as he lifted the demon-slaying red rose, its tip aimed at his younger brother. "When you reach the Underworld of Nephalem, remember to give my regards to my sister Hela!"
"Sister? Hela?" Loki's eyes widened in shock, but Gilgamesh gave him no time to speak, driving the spear forward.
Thud…
A muffled sound. Blood gushed.
Then, a pale but unwavering hand gripped the spearhead. The sharp blade had pierced the skin, yet the blood flowed freely down the arm, powerless to stop the grip.
"You… didn't die!"
Gilgamesh's expression remained calm, composed as if witnessing the unfolding events had been inevitable.
Loki, however, could hardly believe it. His eyes widened like copper bells, astonishment and joy mingling in equal measure.
Even Captain America and Natasha showed visible relief—honestly, they had all believed Thor was truly dead, and the world seemed poised on the brink of despair.
Among everyone present, only Iron Man seemed to see through it all. How could the brother who had always shown mercy truly be defeated so easily?
"I'm not that easy to kill!" Thor opened his eyes. Lightning crackled around his sockets, blue light illuminating the storm within. An invisible force field steadied him as he rose, radiating majesty and dominance.
The aura was unmistakably Thor—grand, electric, unyielding.
But it crumbled instantly when his gaze fell on his dumbfounded brother. A goofy grin spread across Thor's face as he called out, "Cerberus!"
The prince scowled, wiping away his tears. "Do you think this is funny?"
"Didn't you always love using this trick?" Thor shrugged helplessly, his grin widening, the exasperation he felt toward his arrogant brother clear.
"Hey, hey, hey! Do you think I don't exist as your older brother?" Gilgamesh's icy glare deepened. "We can reminisce after we're dead. No need to rush it now!"
Interrupted, Thor finally straightened, his expression serious. Complex emotions flickered across his face as he studied his cold, indifferent older brother.
He had once had to look up to Gilgamesh, but now, awakened to his inner potential, the surge of divine power gave him an unshakable intuition: If I fight him again, I'll win. He's nothing special.
The thought filled him with boundless confidence.
"Gilgamesh, if you surrender now, I can forgive your mistakes."
"Hmm?" Gilgamesh's red rose spear shattered into golden shards. Crossing his arms, he gently tapped his golden armor, producing a crisp ding-ding sound. "My foolish brother… the way you talk makes it sound like you've got me cornered."
Thor raised his hand, lightning crackling between his fingers, faint rumbles echoing inside the sparks. "Believe me—I'm different now!"
He was confident he could take on at least two versions of his past self.
Gilgamesh was strong, but Thor wasn't weak; only the clash would tell the truth. His sudden surge of power had clearly gone to his head, and the world was about to give him the beating needed to humble him.
Gilgamesh was very good at providing that service.
The sun had come out, the rain had stopped, and Thor once again thought he was invincible.
Gilgamesh watched him with amused contempt, speaking with the lofty arrogance of a deity perched above the world. "My foolish brother, my punches are fast. Just try to keep up."
Before the words had fully left his mouth, he stepped forward—shrinking the distance in an instant—and appeared behind Thor.
A pillar of lightning erupted upward, slamming into Thor and launching him into the sky.
Before he could fall, countless pillars of lightning shot out, sealing off every angle. They closed in all at once.
The mighty God of Thunder became a toy in a storm of blows, smashed from every direction, his body spinning like an electrified yo‑yo. He finally crashed behind Gilgamesh, completely controlled by the lightning barrage.
Gilgamesh turned and delivered a perfectly timed punch, launching him again.
This was none other than the technique of Leo Gold Saint Aiolia—the Plasma Light Speed Fist.
[If the description feels too mild, just watch Aiolia nearly pound Seiya into paste in Legend of Sanctuary.]
Thor, sparking and smoking, tumbled across the ground for dozens of meters, plowing a trench through the grass before slamming into a tree and going still.
Silence fell across the arena.
"Which one of them is Thor?" Stark asked, utterly lost. Natasha looked just as confused. "It should… probably be Thor?" Even she didn't sound sure.
Captain America shook his head with a bitter sigh. After all that boasting, he expected Thor to at least challenge Gilgameshdin. Instead, Thor folded before Gilgamesh even tried. It was humiliating.
"My foolish brother, weren't you going to forgive my mistake?" Gilgamesh asked lazily. He hadn't moved an inch, yet in the blink of an eye he appeared before Captain America as if he had teleported. "Unfortunately, that idiot lost again. I'll have to stab you this time."
He exhaled, almost bored. "I'm tired of this game. Let's end it."
He raised a single finger. A blinding red glow burst from the fingertip, flaring like a beacon in the night sky, bathing the world in crimson light visible for miles.
Then, as if reality snapped, the glow collapsed inward—condensing into a single brilliant scarlet star. The energy within it was terrifying, painting Gilgamesh's face blood‑red and feral.
Captain America's terror was etched clearly under the light.
"Accept your fate, vermin. This is divine will. There is no retreat."
The words resounded in every heart as if spoken by a god pronouncing the final judgment. Awe and fury froze the crowd, and a suffocating silence swallowed them all…