The distance between the two colossal worlds kept shrinking.
Between these two vast worlds, where units were measured in tens of thousands of kilometers, there was no room left for any other small worlds—unless they were being used as cannon fodder.
The Greek sky god Uranus watched the small world drawing ever closer in the distance, while silently shouting in his heart, "Don't come any closer!" Helplessly, his voice and his means were inversely proportional.
Previously, Uranus couldn't solve the small asteroid Thalos had flung over, let alone a small world thousands of kilometers in diameter. That weak, powerless feeling clutched Uranus's soul in a death grip.
There was resistance, but not much.
Uranus raised a superstorm thousands of kilometers across, which, before this nearly equal-sized solid small world, wasn't much at all. He couldn't even knock it slightly off course.
He gave it everything he had and still couldn't win.
The raging wind only stripped the cannon-fodder world's spatial barrier. Then an unknown billions of tons of chaotic energy slammed into the Greek world's firmament all at once, punched through its spatial barrier, and poured fiercely into it.
Back in his prime, Uranus would have been distraught at his failure to protect his world.
Now he felt nothing.
As a miserable god who'd been castrated, not immediately lying down and giving up already counted as cutting his grandson some slack.
When that vast surge of chaotic energy pierced the Greek world's firmament, the few surviving Greeks huddled in ravines were busy scavenging for food. Hearing a strange noise from the sky, they looked up, stunned. On the withered tree beside them, dead leaves rattled; in the mountain spring, water the color of mud rippled.
The mountains hummed, buffeted by the wind of chaos.
Countless bits of rock cracked off the slopes and clattered to the ground.
Next came the massive "meteor blocks" falling from the sky. The small continent inside that small world likewise couldn't withstand the enormous impact and tore itself to pieces at the first moment of contact.
They became terrifying chunks measured anywhere from tens of thousands to hundreds of millions of tons, and they hurled themselves at the Greek world.
Even to Uranus, those brittle rocks quickly turned to dust.
But what was dust to a god was still ten-ton, hundred-ton, even thousand-ton boulders to mortals—utterly terrifying.
Those boulders punched through the atmosphere and, before they could burn away, became giant masses that slammed into the ground and gouged ink-black craters steeped in chaotic taint.
This city-level annihilation made Gaia, the earth incarnate, let out bone-chilling wails.
The rippling shock waves were so outrageous that even the clouds roiled, boiling into ten thousand muddy, disorderly waves.
With heaven and earth so chaotic, the creatures of the mortal world suffered.
Humans and beasts dropped dead on the spot; even the tiny bugs in cracks of dirt suddenly stood upright and convulsed.
When the shockwave of that great heaven-and-earth collision swept over with a world-ending roar, the land of the Greek world was utterly ruined.
Enormous mountains shattered into powder-fine sand in the warped shock fronts. The earth split open with terrifying fissures a thousand meters across. Seawater, reeking with the stench of chaotic energy, surged into the high heavens.
The ruins of the Greek city-states—already destroyed once—were like burning balls of paper under the meteor firestorm.
Everywhere you looked, the entire Greek world seemed to revert to primordial chaos, sinking completely into towering, foul waves.
Everything happening in the Greek world was seen by the Aesir with divine sight, then projected as a mirage above the skies of the South American continent of Ginnungagap, with sound, for everyone from the Greek world to watch closely.
That's right! This was killing the body and crushing the spirit!
In that moment, countless Greeks reduced to slavery fell to their knees, covered their faces, and wept, unable to control themselves.
Former Mycenaean king Agamemnon looked at the scene, and tears streamed down his old face.
Even the Amazons and Athenians who had already cast their lot with the Aesir lowered their heads and wept.
No matter how many grudges they had against Zeus, the Greek world had been their home.
Now Zeus, who refused to surrender, was taking a ruthless beating from the Aesir God-Emperor Thalos.
That extreme split in feeling tore at the hearts of these "new Ginnungagap people."
In the Silver Palace, Hippolyta, Penthesilea, Helen, and the other attendants gazed at His Majesty the God-Emperor lounging casually on the throne, their looks conflicted.
Athena and the others were the same.
Reason told them to rejoice at the Aesir's victory; emotion told them their homeland was being destroyed.
Even though they had been mentally prepared for it, seeing it still overwhelmed them.
Only the goddess Amaterasu wore a peculiar smile. She wasn't the least bit surprised by the move.
Thalos was like that—no one got to leverage a whole world to force the Aesir's hand. Back when the entire Fusang world was held hostage by Angra Mainyu, the Persian god of ultimate evil, Thalos simply destroyed the Fusang world and rebuilt every element within it from scratch.
The billions of lives inside were taken with Angra to the grave.
In this Greek world, the sky was coextensive with Uranus, the earth with Gaia, and too many Olympians were hard-bound to aspects of the world.
Given that, Amaterasu didn't see why the Greek world would be an exception.
The old-guard Aesir were no strangers to such scenes. If anyone was the happiest among them, it was probably Odin.
"Hahaha! Zeus, now it's your turn." Odin was literally popping champagne.
For him, having returned to the Aesir, there were no regrets left—especially seeing that his timid son, Bragi the god of poetry, hadn't been purged by Thalos back then and was actually living quite well by brownnosing the God-Emperor. Odin was delighted.
This was way more thrilling than any fireworks show.
Of course, as the one taking the beating in this world-ramming event, Zeus wasn't in the mood to celebrate.
"Don't be afraid! The Greek world is so big, the Aesir can't just destroy it like this. In the end, they'll still have to come and fight us."
No sooner had Zeus finished speaking than another small world crashed in.
Zeus's eyes went wide.
Is this never going to end?
One, two... seven!
A full seven small worlds roared in like a rapid-fire barrage, turning the entire Greek world upside down in the literal, physical sense.
At that moment, Zeus truly regretted it.
"If I'd known, I would've slammed the slave worlds over first!"
Very soon, Zeus realized that even if he wanted to ram them, he couldn't.
The Ginnungagap world—nearly the same size as the Greek world—came lunging like a giant octopus, brandishing green roots thousands of kilometers long.
It lashed straight down at the Greek world.
From the core of the World Tree, the forest god Vidar shouted in wild excitement, "Disobedient worlds get the whip!"