Chapter 451 necrosword
Loren turned a page.
"Then he found it, he found a god, but not the Supreme God of the Indigo people, a god of another civilization."
"A small, inconspicuous god worshipped by only a few hundred people."
"That god did not know where the Indigo people were, did not know where the Supreme God had gone, and did not know anything about the Indigo people."
"He didn't care either; he was just a small god, and the scope of his power was only his small Planet."
"Then that man picked up a sword and killed that god with that sword."
Thor's blue eyes widened.
Loren's finger pointed at an illustration on the page, showing a black, twisted, living-like sword.
"That sword was not forged by him, not found by him, and not stolen by him."
"That sword was the product of his hatred, pain, and despair condensing into form."
"He poured all his negative emotions into a piece of black metal picked up from a dead Planet."
"Cast it with his own blood, forged it with his own will."
"That sword came alive."
"It gained its own consciousness, its own hunger, its own mission, which was to kill all gods."
Loren closed the book.
"That man is Gorr, and that sword is the necrosword."
"Every time Gorr killed a god, the necrosword would devour that god's power and then feed a part of it back to Gorr."
"Strength, speed, lifespan, knowledge, magic, everything was growing."
"He transformed from an ordinary Indigo person without any superpowers into a monster capable of killing Asgard's most powerful warrior."
Hela walked over from the window, her green eyes looking at the ancient book on the desk.
Her fingers gently glided over the pages, feeling those ancient texts and illustrations.
Her expression was solemn; Hela was rarely solemn.
"I have heard of this legend," Hela said in a low voice.
"When Odin and I conquered the Nine Realms, a Dark Elves prisoner once mentioned a madman performing Carnage on minor gods at the edge of the Universe."
"Odin didn't care; he said there were many things that could slaughter minor gods and they weren't worth attention. Perhaps he was wrong."
"Odin was not wrong," Loren said.
"Gorr was indeed not worth attention at the time; the gods he killed were all insignificant minor gods, and his power was not yet enough to threaten Asgard-level deities."
"But that was thousands of years ago. In thousands of years, how many gods had Gorr killed? One thousand? Two thousand?"
"Every god killed by him turned into a part of his power. The current Gorr is no longer something Asgard can deal with."
Thor clenched stormbreaker.
"So what are you going to do?"
Loren looked at him and smiled.
"A mere Gorr cannot make any waves, so there is no need to pay attention to him."
"You and Hela are both gods of Asgard, so he will seek you out himself."
"Right, he is already here!" Loren said with a shrug.
Just as his words fell, the night sky above Morgan Manorsplit open.
The edges of the rift had no light, no energy radiation, and no signals that could be captured by sensors.
It simply appeared in the air, like someone had used an invisible knife to make a cut on the skin of the sky.
Revealing the absolute nothingness beneath the skin that did not belong to any dimension.
From the rift, a figure walked out.
Slender, black, like a dead tree.
His skin was grayish-white, like a corpse that had been left in the dark for too long.
His body was wrapped in a ragged, dust-covered black robe, the hem of the robe dragging in the air, gently fluttering at the edge of the rift.
His head was bald, without hair, and his grayish-white scalp was covered with tiny, crack-like patterns.
His eyes were not black, but hollows without any color.
Not pupils, not irises, pure, absolute nothingness that nothing could fill.
In his hand, he held a sword; the blade was black, but non-reflective.
The cutting edge was curved, like a crescent moon.
The hilt was wrapped in some kind of still-beating, biological-tissue-like texture.
Liquid was flowing on the sword body, not blood, not Water, a viscous, dark red, lava-like substance.
Those liquids dripped from the tip of the sword, turning into black smoke in the air, and then dissipating.
God Butcher Gorr has come!
Thor raised his head and looked at the figure standing at the end of the Bifrost Bridge.
Black, slender, like a dead tree.
The sword in his hand was still dripping Heimdall's golden blood, emitting faint steam in the night wind.
"Gorr—" Thor's voice squeezed out from his throat, hoarse, low, like the wail of a dying Beast.
Gorr looked at him, with no pity in his hollow eyes.
Thor bounced off the ground.
stormbreaker spun in his hand, blue electric arcs bursting from the axe blade, blasting countless cracks into the stone slabs of the Bifrost Bridge.
He didn't speak, didn't ask why, didn't demand an explanation from Gorr.
No explanation needed, no understanding needed, no form of communication needed.
He only wanted to avenge Heimdall.
He rushed up.
stormbreaker chopped toward Gorr's head with all of Thor's anger, all of his sorrow, and all of his power.
The lightning on the axe blade dragged out a blue column of light in the night sky, the brightness of which exceeded all the lights of Asgard, illuminating the entire Bifrost Bridge as bright as White day.
The temperature of the lightning ionized the air around the axe blade, and blue electric arcs spread around, hitting the walls of the Golden Palace.
Blasting smoking pits into those golden stone slabs.
Gorr did not dodge.
He extended his left hand, opened two fingers, and pinched the axe blade of stormbreaker.
Lightning burst between his fingers, blue electric arcs crawling on his grayish-white skin.
But the electric arcs extinguished the moment they touched his skin, like Water droplets falling on a red-hot iron plate, making a sizzling sound.
His fingers didn't move at all, locking stormbreaker like two steel pillars.
Thor's blue eyes widened.
"You—"
"I said, your axe is good, but your power is not enough."
He withdrew his left hand and let go of stormbreaker.
Before Thor had time to react, his right hand holding the necrosword swung from bottom to top, the blade drawing a black arc across Thor's chest.
Thor's body flew backward.
The armor on his chest split from the middle, exposing the skin underneath.
There were no wounds on the skin; it wasn't that Gorrhadn't hit him.
Rather, stormbreaker released an energy shield at the last moment, blocking most of the cutting force of the necrosword.
But the shield didn't block all the power; the black energy penetrated the shield and invaded his skin.
Leaving black, tree-root-like patterns that spread from his chest to the surroundings.
Thor crashed into the wall, and a large chunk of the wall collapsed under his impact.
He slid down to the floor, stormbreaker slipped from his hand, smashing onto the ground with a crisp metallic sound.
His body was trembling, not out of fear, but because the black energy of the necrosword was eroding his body.
Flowing in his blood vessels like venom, devouring his vitality.
He raised his head, watching Gorr walk down from the Bifrost Bridge, approaching step by step.
Chapter 452: Younger Brother Beaten, Elder Sister Steps In!
Gorr came before Thor, his black robe fluttering in the night wind, the tip of the necrosword pointing at Thor's throat.
Black energy surged from the blade like tiny snakes, twisting in the air, making a hissing sound, and crawling toward Thor's eroded wound.
With just one more step and one more thrust, Thor's life would end beneath this evil sword that had devoured the power of thousands of gods.
Thor lay on the ground, stormbreaker fallen beside his body, the blue electric arc on the axe blade beating faintly, like a dying heart.
His blue eyes looked at Gorr's grayish-white, expressionless face, a trace of golden blood at the corner of his mouth.
His hands were trembling, but he was still trying to grasp stormbreaker. Not for a counterattack, but to be able to stand up at the very last moment.
"You are more resilient than all the other gods." Gorr said, his voice flat.
"The other gods can't even stand in front of me, you fell three times and got up three times, but unfortunately, resilience cannot replace power."
He raised the necrosword.
The blade suddenly lit up, dark red liquid accelerating its flow across the blade, making a buzzing sound, like millions of insects beating their wings simultaneously.
Black energy exploded from the tip of the sword, forming a spiral pillar of light.
At the end of the pillar of light were hair-thin black spikes pointing at Thor's head, heart, and abdomen.
"Die!" Gorr said as he moved to kill Thor.
But the moment the sword fell, a green light shot out from the shadows of the Golden Palace.
It was not an energy beam, not magic, but a spear condensed from pure energy.
Dark green electric arcs flowed across its surface, and the tip of the spear carried the bone-chilling aura of death unique to the Goddess of Death.
The spear flew spinning at a speed several times that of sound, striking the blade of the necrosword.
The sound of metal collision exploded over the ruins of the Golden Palace, louder than thunder and deeper than an earthquake.
The blade of the necrosword was deflected by a few inches by the spear, and the edge brushed past Thor's shoulder, piercing the ground beside him.
The black energy blasted out a pit two meters in diameter, sending gravel flying.
But Thor was protected by a green energy field, and those gravels turned into powder before hitting the energy field.
Gorr raised his head.
From the shadows of the Golden Palace, Hela walked out.
Her long black hair fluttered in the night wind, and her dark green battle suit clung tightly to her slender body. Energy flowed across the surface of the suit, layer upon layer like scales.
On her head, the horned crown made of twisted metal and bone shone with a cold light under the starlight.
Taller and sharper than before, green electric arcs leaped at the tips of the horned crown.
In her hands, two black spears condensed from pure energy rotated above her open palms, as if waiting for the Master's command.
Her green eyes looked at Gorr, filled with a cold, abyss-like fury.
"God Butcher." Hela's voice was low, hoarse, carrying a majesty that one dared not look directly at.
"Although this useless brother of mine is quite pathetic, he is still my own flesh and blood. You left a wound on my brother, do you take me, his elder sister, for dead?"
Gorr looked at her, his hollow eyes without ripples.
"Hela. Goddess of Death. Odin's first child. Your legend ranks very high on my list."
"Should I feel honored?" The corners of Hela's mouth raised slightly into a cruel arc.
"You should feel fear."
"Heh!" Hela sneered, not saying another word.
Her left hand waved forward, and the two black spears suspended above her palms shot out simultaneously.
One went straight for Gorr's heart, while the other took an arc from the side, stabbing towards his back.
The spears left streaks of green afterimages in the air, moving so fast that even Thor's eyes could only capture blurred trails of light.
Gorr's body turned into black smoke.
The spears pierced through the smoke, which rolled over the spear tips and then re-condensed into Gorr's body.
He appeared less than three meters behind Hela, the necrosword hacking down from above, its blade carrying black energy that devoured all light.
The landing point of this sword pointed precisely at Hela's crown. He could see that the horned crown was not only her crown, but also the amplifier of her power.
Hela didn't look back.
Her right hand, the one that was still free, whipped backward, and a new spear instantly formed in her hand, its tip pointing upward, accurately blocking the blade of the necrosword.
Black energy and green energy exploded at the point of collision, and a ring-shaped shockwave blew away all the gravel within tens of meters around.
Hela's feet sank into the ground, and the flagstones shattered beneath her feet, but her body remained motionless.
She turned her head, her green eyes looking at Gorr's face from over her shoulder.
"Although this is not my land, it's more than enough to deal with you!"
She spun around abruptly, the spear transforming from a parry into a thrust during the spin, the tip grazing Gorr's ribs.
The necrosword's energy shield blocked most of the attack, but the tip of the spear still cut a slit in his black robe.
Black—not blood, but some thicker, tar-like liquid oozed out from the wound.
Gorr lowered his head to look at his wound, then dipped his fingers into some of the black liquid and brought it up to his eyes to examine it.
"You are much stronger than Thor, but that's all!"
He took a sharp step forward, switching the necroswordfrom his right hand to his left, and slashed horizontally at Hela's neck.
Hela leaned her head back, avoiding the blade.
But the black energy on the necrosword turned into countless tiny spikes, exploding from the blade and shooting toward Hela's head and shoulders.
She had no time to dodge, and could only compress her energy shield to the surface of her body, reducing the thickness of the shield from a few centimeters to an almost invisible degree.
The spikes struck the shield.
The shield flickered violently, and a few spikes penetrated the shield, piercing Hela's left shoulder and right arm.
It was not a physical wound; the necrosword's energy attacked her soul directly.
She could feel those spikes devouring her power, like leeches sucking blood.
Hela clenched her teeth. No cries, no shouts, she just clenched her teeth, her green eyes burning with a fury bordering on madness.
"You think this little injury can make me fall?"
She extended her right hand, fingers wide open, and black energy gushed out from her palms, not condensing into spears.
Instead, it turned into countless black, tentacle-like energy bands that entangled Gorr's body from all directions.
The moment those energy bands touched Gorr, they began to contract, spin, and pull, attempting to tear his limbs from his body.
Gorr's body deformed slightly under the pull of the energy bands, but his expression did not change at all.
He looked at the black energy wrapping around him, a hint of boredom seemingly appearing in his hollow eyes.
"Is that it?"
Chapter 453: The terrifying necrosword, neither sibling is enough to fight!
Hela's green eyes narrowed slightly, a trace of annoyance flashing across her face.
She adjusted the contraction force of the energy band to the maximum.
Those black tentacles twisted violently under Hela's will, emitting a harsh sound like twisting metal.
Gorr's body made a creaking sound of bones amidst the entanglement of the tentacles; it was not a fracture, but compression.
Hela's power was compressing his body inward from the outside, attempting to crush him into a singularity with no volume.
Gorr's head hung low, his black robe shattering amidst the twisting energy, revealing the grayish-white, scar-covered skin beneath.
Those scars were not old injuries, but marks left behind when the energy of the necrosword flowed through his body, spreading across the surface of his skin like tree roots.
Then, he raised his head.
His hollow eyes looked at Hela.
"You are strong, Hela, but still not enough!"
His body shook violently, and a black energy several times stronger than before surged from the blade of the necrosword.
The energy surged out from his body like a flood, shattering all of Hela's energy bands.
The black fragments splashed in all directions, hitting the walls and floor of the Golden Palace, leaving bottomless holes on those sturdy stone slabs.
Hela was pushed back a dozen meters by the Impact, her feet plowing two deep gullies on the ground.
The wounds on her left shoulder and right arm widened under the tearing of the Impact, and black energy seeped out from the wounds, rolling around her body like thick smoke.
Blood overflowed from the corner of her mouth, and she knelt on one knee on the ground.
She felt that her power was failing, and the necroswordwas devouring her energy.
His necrosword was like a bottomless black hole, absorbing, devouring, and transforming all surrounding energy into its own power.
Thor climbed up from the ground.
Dragging the stormbreaker, he limped to Hela's side, extended his left hand, grabbed her arm, and pulled her up from the ground.
Hela looked up at him, something flashing in her green eyes.
"Together," Thor said, his voice hoarse but steady.
Hela did not speak, only nodded.
The two stood side by side in front of Gorr.
On the blade of the stormbreaker, the blue electric arc lit up again, brighter and denser than before.
In Hela's hands, two new spears condensed into form, with green electric arcs leaping on the tips.
Intersecting and merging with Thor's blue lightning in mid-air, they formed a blue-green intertwined energy field like an aurora.
Gorr looked at them, with no ripples in his hollow eyes.
"Siblings joining forces, touching, but useless."
His body turned into a beam of black light and disappeared on the spot.
The next second, he appeared in the gap between Thorand Hela, the necrosword thrusting outward from the middle to both sides, its tips pointing at the two people simultaneously.
Thor used the stormbreaker to block the sword tip stabbing toward him, the blade and the sword edge colliding with a loud noise, and his body was pushed back several meters by the huge force.
Hela used her spear to parry the sword tip stabbing toward her, but the wound on her left shoulder tore open under the Impact of the parry.
Black blood gushed out from her shoulder, and her complexion turned pale at that instant.
Gorr did not give them a chance to breathe.
The necrosword turned into a curtain of black swords in his hands.
Every sword carried the power to devour everything, and every sword precisely targeted the joints and old wounds where the two people's defense was weakest.
He constantly switched attack targets between Thor and Hela, like a snake swimming quickly in the dark, making the cooperation of the two always a step slower than him.
Thor's fractured left arm was struck by another sword from Gorr, completely breaking the bones, and he could only hold the stormbreaker with his right hand, fighting with a single arm.
Hela's left shoulder was eroded by the black energy of the necrosword, and her entire left arm lost sensation. She could only condense spears with one hand, and the density and force of her attacks were declining.
The two retreated continuously.
Their breathing grew heavier, their movements slower, and their power weaker.
Gorr's black robe fluttered in the energy field, and the necrosword was stuck in the floor in front of him.
The dark red liquid on the blade was flowing at an accelerated speed, twisting excitedly like a venomous snake that had drunk blood.
"Your coordination is good, but the power gap between us is too huge. I have devoured the power of thousands of gods, you cannot win."
He pulled out the necrosword and raised it above his head.
The black energy on the blade began to converge toward the tip, forming an increasingly large, rotating black sphere of light.
Dark red lightning leaped on the surface of the light sphere, devouring the surrounding light, sound, and air.
The surrounding temperature dropped rapidly, and the earth began to frost.
"This sword will send you to meet your father Odin."
The black sphere of light detached from the tip of the sword, plunging toward the location of Thor and Hela like a black Sun.
Thor raised the stormbreaker, channeling all the lightning into the blade, forming a blue energy shield.
Hela poured all her remaining power into the two spears, crossing the spears above her head to form a green cross barrier.
The blue-green energy and the black Sun confronted each other between them for less than two seconds.
The shield shattered.
The barrier shattered.
Thor and Hela were simultaneously blown away by the Impact of the black Sun, the stormbreaker slipped from Thor's hand and stuck into the floor, the blue electric arc on the blade completely extinguished.
Hela's two spears dissipated into energy fragments in mid-air, and the crack on her horned crown made by 2B split open again, spreading all the way from the tip of the crown to the base.
She slid down from the wall, knelt on both knees, and supported herself on the ground with both hands.
Her long black hair hung down to cover her face, and her expression could not be seen, but her shoulders could be seen trembling.
It was not fear, but the uncontrollable twitching of her body when eroded by the black energy of the necrosword.
Thor lay beside her, his blue eyes half-closed, his breathing weak and chaotic.
Gorr walked up to them, looking down at these two gods of Asgard.
"Hela, Thor. Your era is over. Death is not the end, it is liberation. Like other gods, you will become a part of my power."
He raised the necrosword, the tip pointing at the back of Hela's neck, about to strike.
But the moment the sword fell, a hand reached out.
The fingers gripped the blade a second before the edge of the necrosword was about to touch Hela's skin.
It was not a parry, nor grabbing the hilt, but directly grasping the blade.
The moment those fingers contacted the black blade of the necrosword, a harsh sound like metal being torn apart rang out.
Gorr's movement stopped.
His hollow eyes moved from the blade to that hand, from the hand to the arm, and from the arm to the figure in front of him.
That was a golden-haired woman.
Chapter 454: Your Strength Is Not Enough
Golden long hair fluttered in the night wind, and dark blue jeans emitted a soft gloss under the starlight.
Her blue eyes were as calm as two mirrors, without anger, without fear, without any redundant emotions.
Her right hand gripped the blade of the necrosword, her five fingers closing to firmly lock the blade within her palm.
The black energy on the sword body danced wildly between her fingers, attempting to erode her skin, her joints, and the infinite power reactor inside her body.
But she had no reaction at all; the black energy was bounced away the moment it touched her skin, like water drops falling on a red-hot iron plate.
"Who are you?" Gorr asked.
Number 18 did not reply.
Her right hand gave a fierce twist, rotating the necroswordninety degrees in her palm, changing the blade from vertical to horizontal and sliding it outward from Gorr's grip.
Gorr's fingers tightened on the hilt, trying to stabilize the sword body, but Number 18's strength was too great.
His body was dragged forward by the sword for a few steps, his feet scraping deep marks on the floor.
"Your sword is quite good, but your strength is not enough."
Number 18 finally spoke, her voice calm, as if evaluating an insignificant object.
For the first time, ripples appeared in Gorr's hollow eyes—not fear, but anger.
The kind of anger from being offended by an existence he believed should not exist.
"You are not a god," he said.
"I am Number 18." She took a step forward, her hand holding the blade not loosening, but tightening even more.
Gorr was pulled forward by her, losing his balance; he could only grab the hilt with his other hand, exerting force with both hands to try and pull the sword out of Number 18's palm.
The sword body remained completely motionless.
"Your power comes from this sword; without the sword, you are just an ordinary person swallowed by hatred," Number 18 said.
She released the blade.
In that instant, Gorr's body fell backward due to the sudden disappearance of inertia.
He staggered a few steps, steadying himself only by propping the ground with the sword.
Five clear fingerprint impressions were left on the body of the necrosword.
Not corrosion, not burning, but physical indentations left on the sword body by Number 18's Vibranium fingers.
Gorr lowered his head to look at those fingerprint impressions, then raised his head to look at Number 18.
His black robe fluttered in the energy field, and the dark red liquid of the necrosword flowed faster on the sword body.
Attempting to repair those indentations, but the repair speed was very slow.
Because those indentations were not just metal deformation, but the aura left inside the sword body by Number 18's power that could not be easily erased by the necrosword's energy.
"You..." The calmness in Gorr's voice disappeared, replaced by a sound like metal rubbing against metal.
"You are not human, not a god, not any known existence. What are you?"
Number 18 did not reply; she walked forward two steps, standing in front of Gorr at a distance of less than two meters.
Her height was slightly shorter than Gorr's, but her aura made Gorr's body instinctively lean backward a bit.
"This is my Master's territory, not a place for you to act wildly. Surrender obediently and go before my Master to be punished; I can spare your life!"
"Spare my life? Hahaha, what a big tone," Gorr's voice became sharper. "I am the God Butcher after all; who do you think I am?"
"The God Butcher, and then?" Number 18 sneered dismissively, "So you are unwilling to surrender obediently and go see my Master?"
Gorr was silent for half a second, and then he laughed.
It was not a mocking smile, nor a cruel smile, but the smile when someone who had stayed in the darkness for too long finally saw a prey worthy of his serious attention.
His laughter echoed within Morgan Manor, hoarse and low, like a rusted iron gate being repeatedly blown by a violent wind.
"When I kill you, I will naturally go see him."
The necrosword flew out from his hand, not directly piercing toward Number 18.
Instead, it rotated around his body once, and the black energy on the sword body turned into countless tiny black spikes, shooting toward Number 18 from all directions.
The speed of those spikes was three times faster than when attacking Hela previously, and their density was five times greater, with every single spike carrying an energy frequency sufficient to penetrate Vibranium.
Gorr had already analyzed Number 18's body material during the previous clash and was adjusting the attack mode of the necrosword to target her.
Number 18 did not dodge.
Her body vibrated slightly the moment before the spikes hit her—not shivering, but her energy shield expanding outward from within her body.
The shield bounced the spikes away the instant it made contact with them, and some spikes were deflected onto the walls.
Leaving bottomless holes on the stone slabs, while some spikes were evaporated in mid-air by the energy field of the shield.
Number 18 stood in place, completely motionless.
Her blue eyes looked at Gorr, still calm.
"Futile struggle is useless; the methods you use to deal with gods are ineffective against me."
Gorr's body tightened slightly.
This was the first time he showed a tightened posture in battle—not preparing to attack, but preparing to defend.
His battle instinct told him that the silver woman in front of him was not an opponent who could be easily defeated.
"Your sword is very strong, able to devour the power of gods!" Number 18 said.
"But I am not a god, so your sword has no effect on me. Now, it's my turn."
She disappeared from her spot.
It was because her speed was too fast, so fast that Gorr's eyes could not track it.
Her body left a residual image in the air, stretching from the entrance of the hall to right in front of Gorr, like a compressed beam of light.
Gorr raised the necrosword to block.
Number 18's fist struck the sword body.
Not a fierce blow, just a short straight punch with a distance of no more than ten centimeters.
The speed of the fist reached a degree that slightly distorted space the moment it struck the sword body.
The air in front of the fist edge was compressed into an invisible, extremely dense air hammer.
The sword body bent under the fist.
The necrosword, this almost indestructible evil sword that had devoured the power of thousands of gods, bent under Number 18's fist.
Although it did not directly break, a clear indentation appeared on the sword body, and the black energy around the indentation fluctuated violently, like stirred sewage.
The dark red liquid on the sword body gushed out from the indentation, splashing onto Number 18's hands and making a sizzling sound, but her Vibranium skin showed no changes at all.
Gorr's body was pushed hundreds of meters away by the impact of the fist, his feet plowing two deep gullies on the ground.
His right arm was trembling, not because of pain, but because the hand holding the hilt was numbed by the vibration of the fist.
He lowered his head, looking at the indentation on the necrosword, and looking at the dark red liquid seeping out from the indentation.
For the first time, a true emotion appeared in his hollow eyes—shock.
Chapter 455: Gorr is defeated!
"You actually damaged my sword?"
"Your sword is not sturdy," Number 18 said.
Gorr's body began to glow.
It wasn't his skin that was glowing, but the dark red light emitted when the energy of the necrosword inside his body flowed through his veins.
The cracks on the surface of his body, those root-like patterns, all lit up like veins burning in the dark.
Something began to condense in his eyes, not pupils, not irises, but pure energy.
Black, non-reflective energy that absorbed all light like a black hole.
"Do you think my power comes solely from this sword?"
Gorr's voice was no longer hoarse, turning into a metallic clashing sound that echoed in the hall, producing countless overlapping echoes.
"Do you think I am a puppet controlled by the sword? No. The sword is me. I am the sword.
My will and the sword's will have merged into one. When you damaged the sword, you damaged my body.
You injured my body. Do you know what happened to the last god who injured me?"
He stood up, his black robe snapping violently in the energy field, the necrosword held in his hand, the dent on the blade slowly repairing itself with dark red liquid.
But the repair speed was very slow, because the power of Number 18 left a residual energy field inside the blade, preventing the necrosword from self-repairing.
"He died. It took three years; I chased him for three years, killed all his followers, destroyed all his temples, and finally, when he was most desperate, I killed him.
Slowly, sword by sword, I sliced him to pieces. You will be the same."
Number 18 looked at him, her blue eyes still calm.
"Are you done talking?"
Gorr moved, and this time his speed was several times faster than before.
The necrosword turned into a streak of black light in his hand, the trajectory of the light weaving a dense net in the hall of the Golden Palace.
Enveloping Number 18 from all directions.
Every streak of light carried all the hatred and anger Gorrhad accumulated over thousands of years, and every sword strike was enough to cut a mountain in half.
Number 18 moved within the sword net.
Her body wove through the black light like a silver fish swimming through the gaps in the reefs.
Her movements were small; every shift just barely avoided the blade, and the distance of every dodge was accurate to the millimeter, no more, no less.
She advanced through the sword net, closing in on Gorrstep by step.
Gorr's attack speed grew faster and faster, and the density of the sword net increased, but Number 18's speed was also increasing, and even faster.
Her body left countless afterimages among the black light; those afterimages were like signposts she left behind in advance, guiding her through the death dance of the necrosword.
She broke through the sword net.
And stood in front of Gorr.
Less than a meter away.
Gorr's sword was still slashing behind her, but his body was already too late to retract the sword.
Number 18's right hand swung upward from below, striking Gorr's sword-wielding wrist.
It wasn't a fierce strike, just a short, precise, scalpel-like cut.
Her fingers closed the moment they hit the wrist, locking onto Gorr's wrist bones.
The Vibranium fingers left five deep dents on Gorr's grayish-white skin.
She could feel the subtle creaking of his bones under her grip, her strength pressing his wrist bones from a circular shape into an oval.
Gorr's mouth opened, emitting a muffled, animal-like cry.
The necrosword slipped from his hand.
The blade spun and flew out, drawing a black arc in mid-air, and then stabbed into the floor of the hall, the blade sinking into the stone slab all the way to the hilt.
The dark red liquid on the blade began to surge violently the moment it left Gorr's palm, like a fish scooped out of the water, making its last struggle on the shore.
Gorr's body trembled violently for a split second.
A thin layer of mist-like grayness in his eyes was slowly dissipating.
From the center to the edges, like a drop of ink falling on the surface of water, spreading slowly and irreversibly.
He looked down at his empty right hand, at the dents pinched out from his wrist by Number 18's fingers, and at the dark red liquid seeping from the dents.
He opened his mouth, but made no sound. He opened his mouth again, still no sound.
Opening his mouth a third time, a hoarse, weak voice squeezed out from his throat.
"I... What is happening to me..."
His voice had changed.
No longer the sound of metal friction, no longer the hollow echo.
But a sound mixed with bewilderment and fear, like someone waking up from a nightmare.
Number 18 released his wrist and stepped back.
Gorr's body lost support and fell forward.
He knelt on one knee on the ground, his right hand still maintaining the posture of holding a sword, his fingers slightly curved in the air, as if grasping a hilt that no longer existed.
His head hung low, his black robe hanging limply in the night wind, no longer fluttering, like a body drained of its skeleton.
The cracks on his shoulders began to darken, changing from dark red to gray, from gray to black, and from black to a charred charcoal black.
Thor struggled to stand up from the ground, the stormbreaker held in his hand, the blue electric arc on the blade beating weakly, but he did not rush toward Gorr.
His blue eyes looked at the kneeling God Butcher losing his power, his expression complex.
There was anger, sadness, and something indescribable that was like sympathy yet not quite.
Hela also stood up from the ground.
Her left hand still hung by her side, the wound on her left shoulder still bleeding.
But her right hand had already materialized a new spear, the tip pointing at Gorr's back.
She looked at Number 18's back, a trace of approval flashing in her green eyes.
Gorr knelt in the center of the hall, supporting himself with both hands on the ground, his black robe sprawling around him like a pool of black water.
His head hung low, his face invisible, but his shoulders could be seen trembling.
Not fear, not anger, but the bewilderment and helplessness of someone who, having been controlled by something for a long time, was suddenly released.
Number 18 stood in front of him, looking down at him.
She didn't speak, just stood there, her blue eyes as calm as two mirrors.
Her right hand hung by her side, the dark red liquid stained from the blade still lingering on her fingers.
Those liquids flowed slowly on her Vibranium skin, trying to find gaps to penetrate.
But finding none, they finally evaporated in the air, turning into black smoke and dissipating.
The blue electric arc of the stormbreaker leaped from Thor's hand and then went out.
He stabbed the blade of the axe into the ground, pressed both hands on top of the handle, and watched Gorr's back.
His breathing had stabilized, but his hands were still trembling slightly.
Because the black energy inside his body had not been completely cleared, those energies flowed in his veins, as if looking for an exit.
Hela withdrew her spear and walked to Thor's side. Her green eyes looked at Gorr, then at Number 18.
Finally, her gaze fell on the embedded necrosword on the floor of the Golden Palace hall.
The dark red liquid on the blade was still flowing slowly, but much slower than before, as if after losing Gorr's grip, its vitality was also fading.
"His sword," Hela said. "It should be destroyed."
Chapter 456 You do not deserve to die by my hands!
Number 18 turned her head and glanced at Hela.
"It would be a pity to destroy such a good weapon. Giving it to my Master is the correct choice."
After speaking, she squatted down and looked at Gorr at eye level.
Gorr's head slowly raised. After losing the infusion of energy from the necrosword, his face was no longer so terrifying.
Those cracks became shallower and thinner, and some were slowly healing.
His eyes were regaining their luster. He looked into Number 18's blue eyes, his lips slightly parted.
"Who… are you?" His voice was hoarse. Unlike the sound of metal friction before, it was more real, more like a living person.
"Number 18."
"Number 18…" Gorr repeated the name, as if savoring its flavor. "Not a god."
"No."
"You took my sword."
"It doesn't belong to you. You are just a puppet controlled by it!"
Gorr was silent for a long time. He lowered his head and looked at his empty hands.
He looked at the black patterns fading from his skin and the wounds that were healing.
His fingers bent slightly and then straightened, as if confirming whether these fingers were still his own.
"How long?" he asked, his voice very soft, as if asking himself.
"How long what?" Number 18 said.
"How long… have I been controlled by this sword?"
Number 18 did not answer. She didn't know the answer, nor did she need to know.
She turned her head and looked in the direction of Thor.
The moment Thor's blue eyes met Gorr's gaze, something flashed in his eyes.
Heimdall's corpse was still lying on the Bifrost Bridge. The golden blood had already dried, turning into a dark golden hard shell.
His eyes were still open, golden, still shining under the starlight.
He was already dead and could not be resurrected.
But when Thor saw Gorr's eyes, which were regaining their humanity, he found his anger being replaced by another complex emotion.
Among them were hatred, sympathy, and the kindness of being a god, but the revenge for the death of his friend had to be taken!
This person who killed Heimdall, this Carnage who slaughtered thousands of gods, the God Butcher, this existence that all gods in the Universe feared.
After losing the necrosword, he looked just like an ordinary old man, with no deterrence at all!
Thor got up, picked up the stormbreaker, and walked toward Gorr unhurriedly.
"Gorr." Thor spoke, his voice hoarse. "Do you still remember the first person you killed?"
Gorr's body stiffened slightly. His head turned from the direction of Number 18 to Thor's direction, his gray eyes looking into Thor's blue eyes.
His lips were trembling, his fingers were shaking, and his whole person was trembling.
"I remember." Gorr said, his voice very small, like an echo rising from the bottom of a very, very deep well.
"Not a god, but a… human, an Indigen.
My clansman. After I killed the first god, he… he cursed me.
Saying I was a monster, saying my sword was a devil, saying I betrayed the faith of the Indigens, I…"
His hands clenched into fists.
"I killed him, with this sword. The sword was very happy, it was laughing.
I could hear its laughter, in my head, in my heart, in the gaps of my bones.
It said, well killed, well killed, all gods deserve to die, all people who believe in gods deserve to die, all people who block us deserve to die."
His voice paused on the word "we".
"It's not us, it's it, it's the sword. It controlled me, made me think I wasn't a human, made me think I and it were one.
But I wasn't one with it, I was just its tool, its container, its… slave."
Gorr stood up from the ground. His movements were very slow and difficult, as if every muscle in his body was fighting against him.
After he stood up, his body swayed and he almost fell down again, but he stabilized himself.
He turned around, facing the direction of the necrosword.
The sword was stuck in the floor, and the dark red liquid on the sword body was still flowing, but the speed had slowed down to almost a standstill.
Those throbbing, biological tissue-like textures on the hilt were also slowly shrinking, withering like vines lacking water.
Gorr walked toward it.
Thor's hand tightened around the stormbreaker, and green energy was gathering in Hela's hand.
Number 18 did not move. She stood in place, her blue eyes looking at Gorr's back, like watching a person walking toward his own end.
Gorr walked in front of the necrosword.
He lowered his head and looked at the sword for a long time.
After sensing his approach, the dark red liquid on the sword body suddenly accelerated its flow.
Like a snake that smelled food, it flowed from the blade to the hilt, from the hilt to the top of the hilt, trying to climb up his palm and reconnect with him.
Gorr did not reach out his hand.
His hands hung at his sides, clenched into fists, his nails sinking into his palms.
"You are not my partner." Gorr said, his voice very low, but every word seemed to be pulled out of his throat with force.
"You are not my friend, you are not my weapon, you are my… cage.
You trapped me, locked me up, used my body to kill people. You made me think that was my will, but that was your hunger."
The dark red liquid on the sword body surged wildly, like an angered snake twisting, struggling, and trying to attack him.
Black energy burst from the sword body, forming black tentacles that reached toward Gorr's wrist, wanting to entangle him again.
Just at this moment, Number 18 moved.
Her body left an afterimage in place, appearing above the necrosword, and with a downward wave of her right hand, she cut off all those tentacles.
The black energy fragments were crushed like water in her hand, turning into black smoke and dissipating.
"Do not touch him again." Number 18 said.
The blade of the necrosword trembled violently and then went quiet.
Those dark red liquids no longer flowed, but solidified on the sword body, turning into a dark red solid like dried blood.
Gorr looked at that dead sword for a long time.
Then he smiled.
The smile of a person who had stayed in the darkness for too long and finally saw the light.
There were tears in the smile, not sadness, but relief.
"Thank you." Gorr said to Number 18.
Then he turned around and looked at Thor.
His gray eyes were no longer hollow, no longer without any color.
Instead, they were a pale gray, like the sky on a winter morning, looking into Thor's blue eyes.
"Thor, the death of your friend Heimdall is my fault. You can take your revenge now!"
After speaking, he closed his eyes and slowly opened his arms, waiting for Thor to give him the fatal blow.
But to his surprise, Thor did not attack him, but looked at him quietly.
"I do not lay a hand on a defenseless civilian. You do not deserve to die by my hands!"
Hearing this, Gorr's expression became complex, and then he said meaningfully: "Back then, if only you were the faith god of our Indigens!"
Chapter 457 I Brought Back the Spoils of War
"Perhaps my clansmen wouldn't have died then."
Gorr's words were filled with regret. He quietly looked at Thor, his eyes full of admiration.
"Thor, you are a good god. Although you are unwilling to kill me, I know that my sins are grave, and I will give you an account.
However, I want to ask you for a favor. After I die, can you send my ashes back to the Indigo Planet?
Bury me in a place without shrines, bury me in a place without gods?"
Thor looked at him, his expression equally complex. After hesitating for a moment, he still nodded silently.
"Alright."
"Thank you!" Gorr nodded with a grateful look.
Then he turned around and walked toward the entrance of the hall, toward the lawn brushed by the night wind and shrouded in starlight.
His pace was very slow and steady, like a person walking the last stretch of his life's journey.
He stood on the lawn, looking up at the stars in the sky.
Among those stars, one was the Indigo Planet.
He no longer remembered the color of that Planet, because in the countless years after he left, it had turned into another Planet.
But he knew it was there, in a certain corner of the Milky Way Galaxy, in the place where he was once a human.
He took out a small knife from the cuff of his black robe.
It was not the necrosword, but an ordinary, small silver knife with a worn hilt.
That was a gift his mother gave him on his last night as an Indigo person before becoming the God Butcher.
He gripped the small knife, looking at the reflection on the blade.
"Mother," he said in a low voice, "I am back."
After speaking, he stabbed the small knife into his own heart.
There was no sound, no blood.
Only his body slowly fell on the lawn, falling onto the stone slabs of the Golden Palace, falling under the starlight.
His eyes closed, and there was a slight smile at the corners of his mouth.
His gray eyes closed.
Forever.
Thor looked at Gorr's corpse and sighed.
He walked to Gorr's side and squatted down.
"Heimdall," Thor said, "your revenge has been avenged."
The wind blew from afar, rustling Gorr's black robe, Thor's cloak, and Hela's long hair.
Number 18 turned around and looked at Thor.
"The matter has been resolved. You can return to your Asgard. Guard your own acre of land well in the future and stop causing any more trouble."
"Understood. Right, thank your Master, Mr. Loren, for me."
Thor raised his head and said to Number 18 sincerely.
Number 18 nodded. She turned around, picked up the necrosword, and walked into the castle of Morgan Manor.
The dark red liquid on the body of the necrosword had completely solidified, turning into a dark brown solid like dried blood.
It adhered to the black blade, forming a rough, uneven texture.
The blade no longer reflected light, not because it had lost its luster, but because it absorbed all the light into its interior, leaving no reflection at all.
The beating, biological tissue-like textures on the hilt had shriveled and fallen off, revealing the silver-white base color underneath like ordinary metal.
But the sword was still alive.
Number 18 could sense it, not because it was moving, not because it was making a sound.
But because from the moment it was in her hand, the infinite power reactor in her body automatically increased its output power.
Forming an invisible energy shield that isolated her palm from the blade.
That wasn't something she did actively; it was an instinctive reaction of her body when sensing a certain threat.
She walked into the study.
Loren sat in the high-backed chair, holding a cup of tea that had already turned cold in his hand.
His gray eyes looked deep in the candlelight, and a few strands of hair hung down in front of his forehead, covering a part of it.
He saw the sword in Number 18's hand, saw the way she gripped the sword, and saw the faint flash of the energy shield within her body.
"Master, the matter has been resolved, I have brought back the spoils of war!" Number 18 said respectfully, looking at Loren sitting in the chair.
Loren nodded, "You did very well. Later, I will heavily reward you!"
Hearing this, Number 18's heart leaped with joy. She naturally knew what the heavy reward Loren mentioned referred to.
And she liked Loren's reward very much; not just her, but all the sisters liked it very much.
"Thank you, Master!" Number 18 said happily, and then placed the necrosword on the table in front of Loren.
The moment the blade touched the oak tabletop, it made a subtle sound like a sigh.
It was not the sound of metal, but a softer sound closer to an organism.
Number 18's blue eyes looked at the sword with a calm expression, but after putting down the sword, her fingers instinctively wiped against her skirt.
It wasn't fear, but disgust. She loathed this kind of weapon that could integrate into the body.
Because in her view, the only person in this World who could enter her body was one person, and that was Loren.
"Where is its Master?" Loren asked.
"Dead, by suicide. Gorr lost the sword, regained his sanity, and after realizing the sins he had committed, pierced his own heart with a small knife."
Loren nodded without surprise.
He had never met Gorr, but he had long understood Gorr's tragedy from the system's data.
A person devoured by hatred and despair, a sword infused with the evil will of Loki, the two combined to become the most terrifying God Butcher in the Universe.
But after the evil was stripped away, what remained was only a pathetic ordinary person played with by fate.
"What about Thor?"
"Alive, injured, but not fatally. Hela is also alive. As for Asgard's losses, only Heimdall died."
Loren's fingers tapped gently on the armrest.
Heimdall, the Guardian of Asgard, those golden eyes capable of seeing every corner of the Universe, closed forever.
He knew Thor would be depressed for a while, but he also knew Thor would stand up again, because Thor was Thor, a person who never indulged in failure for too long.
He reached out and grasped the hilt of the necrosword.
The moment his fingers touched the hilt, the blade shook violently.
The dark brown solids solidified on the blade suddenly split open, revealing the new, flowing, dark red liquid underneath.
The liquid gushed out from the hilt, spreading along the blade like an awakened snake, probing, sensing, looking for gaps to invade.
Silver-white energy gushed out from Loren's palm, enveloping his entire hand.
The moment those dark red liquids touched the silver-white energy, they shrank back, as if scalded, leaving scorched black marks on the blade.
"Do not struggle," Loren said in a low voice, his voice not loud, but with an unquestionable majesty, like speaking to a disobedient child.
The blade quieted down.
The dark red liquid no longer flowed, no longer struggled, just quietly lay on the blade, like a tamed snake, coiled in Master's hand.
Chapter 458: Your Power is Very Peculiar!
Chapter 458
No. 18 watched this scene, a trace of shock flashing through her blue eyes.
She knew that Loren's power far exceeded the range that this sword could resist, but she did not expect that after perceiving Loren's power, this sword would choose submission so quickly.
The sword judged that resistance was futile and submission was a temporary survival strategy.
Loren lifted the sword to his eyes, his gray eyes looking at the dark red patterns on the sword body.
Looking at those almost invisible, capillary-like energy channels flowing deep within the patterns.
His consciousness sneaked into the interior of the sword, not with perception, but directly penetrating into the energy field of the sword with his will.
There, at the core of the sword, at the junction of those dark red liquids and black metal, he sensed a consciousness.
Not Gorr's consciousness; Gorr's consciousness was no longer there.
At the moment Gorr committed suicide, his remaining consciousness fragments were released from the sword and dissipated into the Universe.
This was an older, more powerful, and deeper consciousness.
It had no shape, no sound, no temperature.
But its very existence was a kind of oppression, like the dizziness when standing on the edge of an abyss and looking down, like the fear of being unable to find direction in absolute darkness.
Loki Knull.
Ancient Loki, creator of the Symbiote, the true Master of all-black the necrosword.
His body slumbered in the darkness of the deepest part of the Universe, but a wisp of his consciousness was attached to this sword.
Influencing, controlling, and devouring the will of every sword-wielder through this sword.
Gorr was not the first, nor would he be the last.
As long as Knull's consciousness was still present, Knull could continue to spread hatred and slaughter through this all-black the necrosword.
Loren closed his eyes.
His consciousness detached from his body, turning into a silver-white light that crept into the core of the sword along his arm, his fingers, the hilt, and the blade.
Inside the sword, within the realm of Knull's consciousness, was a boundless darkness.
It was not the kind of darkness with stars, light, and measurements.
It was an absolute void without any reference points, like the nothingness before the birth of the Universe.
In this darkness, a consciousness was slumbering.
Its breathing was the rhythm of the Universe, its heartbeat was the birth and death of stars, and every pulse of it was sending a certain ancient and evil frequency to the entire Universe.
Loren's consciousness condensed into a humanoid shape, a silver-white light forming a clear outline around him.
His gray eyes shone in this darkness, like two stars burning at the bottom of the abyss.
"Knull." Loren said.
There was no answer in the darkness.
"I know you are here, I know you can hear me.
This sword is an extension of your will, and you use it to influence the Universe.
Gorr is your puppet, your pawn.
You made him kill, you made him devour gods, and you made him the most terrifying God Butcher in the Universe.
Not for any great purpose, but just to satisfy your hunger."
The breathing rhythm in the darkness changed.
It didn't get faster, it got deeper.
Like a slumbering behemoth being hit by a stone, slowly awakening from its dream.
"Who are you?" The voice came from all directions, ringing simultaneously from every corner of the darkness, overlapping like countless voices speaking at the same time.
"Loren Morgan, the current Master of this sword."
A sneer came from the darkness, a laugh that didn't sound like a human's.
It was something more primitive, more like the roar of a great earthquake splitting, the screech of ice cracking, and the low roar before a volcanic eruption.
The laughter echoed in the darkness, shaking Loren's conscious outline slightly.
"Master? You? A mortal? You dare to call yourself the Master of this sword, who gave you the guts?"
Loren's conscious outline did not fluctuate at all, his gray eyes looking at the consciousness condensing in the depths of the darkness.
That was Knull awakening, awakening his own consciousness from slumber, gathering from all corners of the darkness to a single point, forming a visible and perceivable existence.
The darkness was contracting.
From all directions, from up, down, left, right, and from every dimension, the darkness converged toward the center.
Condensing into a huge, black, shapeless outline.
Its body seemed to be woven from night and hollowness, there were countless horn-like protrusions on its head, and its eyes were two bottomless abysses emitting a dark red light.
Knull.
Not the main body, the main body slumbered in the darkness of the deepest part of the Universe, this was only his conscious projection, that part of the soul fragment he attached to the sword.
But it was powerful enough, powerful enough to devour the will of any god, powerful enough to make Gorr the God Butcher.
Powerful enough to manipulate countless sword-wielders to kill for it over thousands of years.
"You are powerful." Knull's voice no longer came from all directions.
Instead, it came from the mouth of that black outline, low, slow, like a vibration coming from the center of the earth.
"The most powerful human I have ever seen, but you are not a god, you are just a thief who stole the power of gods."
"You are not a god either," Loren said. "You are a parasite.
You parasitize on the sword you forged, on the will of the sword-wielder, and in the life of the Symbiote.
You are just a hungry, forever insatiable monster that relies on devouring others to prolong yourself."
Knull's conscious outline vibrated violently.
That was not anger, it was excitement.
Like a person who was tickled in the itchy spot, finally waiting for an opponent worthy of serious treatment.
"You dare speak to me like that?"
"Why wouldn't I dare?"
Loren's consciousness took a step forward, silver-white light pouring out from his body, illuminating the surrounding darkness.
Wherever the silver-white light reached, the darkness curled, shrank, and turned into ashes like paper burned by fire.
The edge of the darkness retreated continuously under the propulsion of the silver-white light, and Knull's conscious outline was forced to contract.
Shrinking from a huge, sky-blocking shape into a relatively condensed form only a few meters tall.
"Such powerful strength, who on earth are you?" The deepness in Knull's voice lessened a bit, replaced by a sharper sound like metal friction.
"I said it already, my name is Loren, of course, you can also call me Super Saiyan or Superman!"
"Super Saiyan? Superman?" Hearing Loren's words, a hint of doubt carried in Knull's voice, obviously having never heard of them.
"During the years of my slumber, I didn't expect that such a strong person like you would be born, but your power is very peculiar and very unfamiliar.
I have never seen such power, it seems to come from another World, normally speaking, your power would be suppressed by the consciousness of this Universe, or even rendered ineffective.
But it is effective, truly incredible, could it be that your will is stronger than the rules of the Universe? Interesting, very interesting."
He took half a step back, not out of fear, but for reassessment.
Knull had lived for hundreds of millions of years, having seen countless powerful existences.
But he had never seen an existence capable of using its own will to bring power from one Universe to another Universe, and ignore the rules of the new Universe.
Chapter 459: Choosing a New Master for the all-black the necrosword!
"Don't celebrate too early, though; the will of the Universewill eventually find you.
By then, it will slowly erode your power, making you as weak as everyone else.
By then, you will regret your arrogance today," Knull sneered.
Hearing this, Loren smiled.
It wasn't a mocking smile, nor a cold smile, but the kind of smile an adult gives a child who is boasting.
"Maybe! But that day won't arrive while you're still alive."
He raised his right hand, fingers spread, as a silvery-white light condensed in his palm, forming an increasingly bright ball of light like a small Sun.
The temperature of the ball of light exploded in the darkness, roasting the surrounding darkness with a sizzling sound, like Water droplets evaporating on a red-hot iron plate.
Under the illumination of the ball of light, Knull's conscious outline began to blur, its edges becoming unclear like an ink painting soaked in Water, slowly dissolving.
"It's impossible for you to erase me." The calmness in Knull's voice vanished.
Replaced by something that resembled fear yet wasn't entirely fear.
"I am Knull, I am the ancestor of the Symbiote, I am the embodiment of darkness, and my consciousness is attached to this sword. You can't erase me."
"I don't think so. How will we know if we don't try?" Lorensaid as he pushed the ball of light forward.
The ball of light didn't explode or spread, but instead advanced slowly and unstoppably toward Knull's conscious outline.
Knull's body kept retreating in front of the ball of light, but Loren's consciousness had already blocked all exits of this space.
Silvery-white light surrounded Knull from all directions, forming a seamless, continuously shrinking cage.
Knull's conscious outline began to split.
It wasn't that he was shattered, but that he was actively splitting his own consciousness.
Trying to send a portion of the fragments out of the cage, attach them to a corner of the sword, and wait to recondense another day in the future.
This was the survival strategy he had used for hundreds of millions of years: breaking down his consciousness into countless tiny fragments and scattering them across various locations of the sword.
Even if the majority were destroyed, as long as a single fragment survived, he could grow back, just like Symbiotereproduction.
Loren sensed those fragments; his Silver Supermanperception encountered no obstruction in this conscious space.
He could see every dark red speck of light trying to slip through the gaps of the cage, every tiny dust-like fragment of Knull's consciousness.
"Did you think I didn't see?" Loren said.
He extended his left hand, closed his fingers, and clenched them into a fist.
Silvery-white light burst from his fist, turning into countless hair-thin rays of light that shot out in all directions.
Every single ray of light precisely hit an escaping consciousness fragment, vaporizing it in an instant.
Knull's main conscious outline became smaller and fainter under the illumination of the ball of light.
His voice was no longer clear, turning into a fuzzy static like a radio with a bad signal, rustling, intermittent, occasionally allowing a few words to be heard.
"You... will regret it... My true body... will find you... will kill you... will devour your Universe... will..."
Before he could finish speaking, the voice vanished.
Knull's conscious outline completely dissipated under the illumination of the silvery-white ball of light, like a block of ice melting under the Sun, leaving behind not even a stain of Water at the end.
The darkness was completely dispelled by the silvery-white light, and the conscious space turned into a pure, bright White devoid of shadows.
The darkness at the core of the sword vanished.
Loren opened his eyes.
In the study, the candlelight was still as warm as ever.
No. 18 was still standing in front of the desk, her blue eyes looking at him.
Tifa had entered at some unknown point, holding a freshly brewed cup of black tea in her hands, and placed it on the desk.
Alice was in the laboratory, Nymph was in the garden, and Wanda was in her own room.
Everything was normal.
But in his hand, the necrosword was different.
The dark red liquid on the sword body had completely disappeared, replaced by a black, flowing, ink-like luster.
The pulsing textures on the hilt had also disappeared, turning into a smooth, warm, jade-like surface.
The entire sword exuded a warm rather than cold aura, like a tamed Beast lying quietly in its Master's hand.
Loren raised the sword to his eyes, his grey eyes looking at those flowing black lights.
He probed into the interior of the sword with his consciousness; without Knull's consciousness, the sword had become a pure weapon with no will, no hunger, and no purpose.
It was merely a container—a container capable of absorbing, devouring, storing, and releasing Universeenergy.
He placed the sword on the desk and stood up from the chair.
"No. 18, go take a bath first, then wait for me in the bedroom. I'll reward you properly later!"
"Okay!" No. 18 nodded, turned around and walked out of the study to take a bath.
Her pace was still very light, but with a bit more relaxation than when she came.
Because the danger had been lifted, and that sword was safer in Loren's hands than in anyone else's.
Plus, with a reward from her Master coming up later, she was naturally happy.
At this moment, Tifa walked to Loren's side, her black eyes looking at the sword on the table.
"It has changed."
"Yes," Loren nodded, "Knull's consciousness has been erased. Now it's just a weapon, a very powerful weapon."
"How do you plan to deal with it?"
Loren didn't answer immediately; he walked to the window and looked at the moonlight outside.
The dewdrops on the lawn shimmered with fragmented light under the moonlight, like diamonds scattered across the ground.
In the distance, the Water of the Hudson River rippled in the night wind, silvery-white ripples pushing toward the shore layer by layer.
"This sword needs a new Master, but since you all already have your own trump cards, handing it over to you would be a bit of a waste!
But if I just hand it over to anyone casually, they won't be able to fully unleash the power of the all-black the necrosword, so I need a suitable candidate.
Someone whose will is strong enough, who won't be devoured by the sword's power, and who can push the sword's power to its absolute limit."
"Do you have a suitable candidate?"
Loren was silent for a moment and nodded.
"I do, but that's for later. The most important thing right now is to reward No. 18. Tifa, you'll join in too."
"Understood, Master!" Hearing Loren's words, Tifa nodded with a look of joy, and then knelt directly in front of Loren.
"Master, No. 18's strength is extraordinary, so we shouldn't rashly fight with her.
I'll give you a warm-up first to release some stress, so you can fight longer later!"
"Tifa, you're always the most considerate. Sorry to trouble you!" Loren nodded, his eyes full of pampering as he looked at Tifa.
"Master, please don't say that. Being able to share Master's worries is my honor."
Chapter 460: The Birth of a New Harem Member, Eve!
Two days later...
At 2:00 AM, in the underground laboratory of Morgan Manor.
Loren stood in front of the console of the Life Cradle Project, his eyes fixed on the complex data and parameters on the holographic screen.
The Life Cradle was the most advanced nanoregeneration technology in the Marvel Universe, initially capable of creating only robots.
But after his improvements and optimization, the Life Cradle was no longer limited to manufacturing mechanical life.
It could create a complete, flesh-and-blood human body, and even inject specific memories and personalities into this body.
Silver-white light seeped from the edges of the console, illuminating Loren's face.
His fingers danced rapidly across the holographic keyboard as lines of parameters flashed, were confirmed, and locked onto the screen.
He was constructing a new life—not an android, not a robot, and not any form of mechanical existence.
Instead, she was a true, flesh-and-blood female organic lifeform with independent consciousness and a soul.
A figure crossed his mind—Eve, the protagonist of the game Stellar Blade.
Her image slowly rotated on the holographic screen, featuring long black hair, exquisite facial features, and a slender figure.
She wore a black, tactical-style bodysuit.
Her eyes were dark brown, gleaming with an amber light in the screen's illumination.
Her expression was calm and resolute, with a slight downward curve at the corners of her mouth—not out of sadness, but focus.
Loren looked at her face, something flashing in his eyes.
His choice of her was no accident; Eve was a warrior, an expert in hunting monsters, and a powerhouse capable of facing the entire World alone.
Her willpower was strong enough, and her sword-fighting skills were exquisite enough to push the power of all-black the necrosword to its ultimate limit.
Therefore, giving all-black the necrosword to her to use was a good choice.
His fingers paused on the keyboard for a moment, and then he entered the final line of commands.
Memory module: Injecting preset memories. Eve was one of Loren Morgan's wives, a member of Loren's harem team, and belonged here from the very beginning of her creation.
In her memories, there were scenes of baking cookies in the kitchen with Tifa, and nights of stargazing on the terrace with No. 18.
There were afternoons spent reading with Alice, and early mornings chasing butterflies in the garden with Nymph.
And of course, there were her feelings for Loren—not programmed obedience, but true love that grew from her memories."
He pressed the start button, and the chamber of the Life Cradle lit up.
Silver-white light poured out from the crevices of the chamber, casting flowing light and shadow on the walls of the laboratory.
The temperature inside the chamber began to rise, going from room temperature to body temperature, and then to the temperature of life's birth.
The data on the holographic screen began to jump: heart rate, blood pressure, brain waves.
Every vital sign was being established from scratch—from nothingness to existence, from weak to stable, from quiet to vibrant.
Loren stood beside the chamber, pressing one hand against its outer shell, feeling the vibrations within.
It was not a mechanical vibration, but the vibration of a heartbeat. A new life was being born right before his eyes.
He had seen the operation of the Life Cradle countless times, but every single time, he felt a strange, indescribable emotion.
It was not because this was a life he created, but because of the sense of miracle inherent in life itself.
The light of the chamber began to recede, and the internal temperature and pressure began to return to normal values.
All the data on the holographic screen turned green, with every vital sign stabilizing within the ideal range.
The chamber door slowly opened.
Steam gushed out from the chamber, carrying a warm, spring-like breath.
In the center of the steam, a woman slowly opened her eyes.
Eve.
Her hair was black, like a midnight river, swaying slightly in the steam.
Her skin was ivory-colored, glowing with a healthy sheen under the white lights of the laboratory.
Her facial features were more exquisite and vivid than those on the holographic screen.
Her high bridge of the nose, full lips, slightly upturned eyebrows, and those dark brown eyes that currently carried a hint of confusion, like someone just waking from a dream.
Her body loomed faintly in the steam—slender, well-defined, and every inch looking as though it had been meticulously sculpted.
Her hands rested at her sides, fingers slightly curved, her fingertips gently grazing the inner wall of the chamber, making a faint sound like silk rubbing together.
She blinked her eyes, seemingly adjusting to the light, and then her gaze fell upon Loren, who was standing beside the chamber.
The corners of her mouth moved slightly.
"Master."
Her voice was neither high nor low, calm, but carried a reassuring warmth, like coming home.
It was not a greeting, but a confirmation—confirming he was there, confirming she was back, confirming everything was fine.
Loren reached out, pulled her hand out of the chamber, and held it in his palm.
Her hand was warm, slightly lower than an ordinary person's body temperature.
But that was a warrior's body temperature—calm, stable, neither rising due to excitement nor dropping due to fear.
"Welcome," Loren said.
Eve sat up from the chamber, her black hair cascading over her shoulders as the steam slowly dissipated around her body.
Her dark brown eyes looked into Loren's grey eyes, at his silver-white hair, and at the slightly upturned, relaxed curve at the corners of his mouth.
Her memories flowed in her brain like a thawed river, slowly and irreversibly beginning to flow.
She remembered Tifa's back as she baked cookies in the kitchen, and No. 18's profile while stargazing on the terrace.
She remembered the glow of the spirit stone between Alice's brows while reading in the study, and Nymph's antennae while talking to snails in the garden.
She remembered Loren sitting in the high-backed chair, holding a teacup in his hand, his grey eyes looking at her, and that smile at the corners of his mouth that he never showed anyone else.
"Master, I've missed you," Eve said.
These were not words from her memories, but words of the present moment, real and grown from her own consciousness.
Loren bent down and gently kissed her on the forehead.
His lips lingered on her forehead for a second before pulling away.
Eve closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of that kiss lingering on her skin.
"I've missed you too," Loren said.
Eve stepped out of the Life Cradle.
Her body felt lighter than she had expected.
It was not the lightness of weakness, but a lightness full of energy, ready to erupt and ready to fight at any moment.
Her bare feet stepped on the metal floor of the laboratory, making a faint sound.
Her knees bent slightly and then straightened.
She was testing the sensation of her body, testing the range of motion of every joint, and testing the explosive power of every muscle.
Loren stood beside her, holding all-black the necroswordin his hand.
The blade had completely changed; after Knull's consciousness was erased, its surface was no longer a black, non-reflective metal.
Instead, it was a silver-white material flowing with a soft glow, and the shape of the blade was no longer fixed.
When it was in his hand, the blade was slender and the hilt fit his palm;
When he handed the sword to Eve, the blade began to change, adapting to its new Master like a living thing.
Eve reached out and grasped the hilt.