Uranus of the Greek world was dumbfounded.
He swore this was the first time, since he'd had a will of his own, that he'd seen such a bizarre hostile world.
In his view, these worlds floating in the chaotic cosmos should all be like big bubbles, their entire atmospheres wrapped in spatial barriers that would pop at a poke, right?
What was this gigantic thing that looked like a dirt-clodded potato, madly sprouting?
No! Those sprouts were actually living things that could move quickly?
What truly blanked Uranus's mind came next: those already long World Tree roots weren't even the main roots.
In general, a tree's roots are usually longer than its height. To draw enough nutrients, trees need massive root systems—typically two to three times larger than the portion above ground.
As a colossal entity that threaded through the entire Ginnungagap world, the World Tree's size grew as the world grew; you could say its height was roughly equal to Ginnungagap's diameter, just a notch smaller. Its root system was naturally even more terrifying.
Even ignoring the roots coiled around the very lowest levels beneath Ginnungagap, the few main roots protruding beyond the world's barrier alone exceeded five thousand kilometers in length.
With their thickest points measured in hundreds of kilometers—and that long and flexible—these roots were the nightmare of any small world.
Don't be fooled by how large the Greek world was; when such thick, long roots stabbed in like this, it truly couldn't bear it.
The main roots weren't moving fast—if you didn't count the world's own drift, they were doing only a dozen or so meters per second.
But they were huge.
With such massive roots driving in, the pain the Greek world would feel was unimaginable.
"No, don't come!" the earth-mother Gaia screamed, unusually frantic.
So what?
When a root pierced the firmament of the Greek world, broke through the atmosphere, and, before heaven and earth, drove itself hard into the great desert south of Alexandria, the entire Greek world shuddered violently.
Even the ruins of Syracuse, hundreds of kilometers away, felt obvious tremors.
As for Alexandria, that world-turning upheaval was an absolute nightmare for mortals still struggling to survive.
"No! Stop it! Stop it—" Gaia kept screaming.
A vast power surged up from the depths of the earth, becoming terrifying earthquakes. Hundreds of millions of tons of rock and gravel heaved like giant waves, straining to crush the tip of the root and reject the World Tree's invasion.
But before the World Tree's irresistible penetrating force, the struggle looked more like coy resistance.
When Vidar reported this to Thalos, Thalos felt a little weirded out.
The World Tree's destruction went on.
Just when Uranus and Zeus thought the roots were invading to rewrite the Greek world's laws, countless tendrils proved them wrong with action.
"Riiip!"
The vast spatial barrier was torn open by innumerable roots.
Even though the barrier worked desperately to fill every inch of the tears and stop atmospheric air from bleeding into the void, the effort was clearly futile.
Those recent world-on-world impacts had made Uranus lose control over most of the sky. Corroded by chaos, with the fall of order, diminished control was only to be expected.
The World Tree's roots seized the chance and, like countless straws, greedily sucked at that chaotic sky.
Even the Greek world's original air—along with the tainted chaotic energy—was gulped down into the World Tree's core region.
The World Tree already had the function of purifying chaotic power. As Ginnungagap moved into the core of this chaotic cosmos, the surrounding chaotic energy had relatively lessened, leaving the Tree's conversion sectors unable to run at full power.
Now, drawing in so much chaotic energy merely restored the Tree's purifying capacity; it wasn't a burden.
For mortal-life in the Greek world, it was undoubtedly a cataclysm.
Vast quantities of air were sucked away along with the chaos, and the atmosphere thinned to an extreme.
Countless animals slipped into hypoxia-induced coma and even death.
Fish in the seas fared a bit better, but atmospheric oxygen depletion would ultimately propagate into the deep ocean.
On the summit of Mount Olympus—only a small patch of which had just been reshaped—Zeus and the gods gazed up at the sky that the World Tree's roots were mauling into a chaotic mess, speechless for a long time.
Hades finally spoke. "Could it be that… the Aesir never intended to conquer the Greek world at all, but to destroy it?"
The very idea chilled the gods to the bone.
Compared to complete annihilation, "conquest" was practically gentle.
Only now did the Olympians realize a blind spot—yes, by clinging to their world they could make invading Aesir suffer, since every Aesir would be severely suppressed by the world's laws here. But if the entire Greek world was destroyed, then world laws were moot.
If the world's gone, what world laws are there to speak of?
"Tch!" Poseidon spat hard.
Fate is a giant boomerang.
Days ago, Zeus had finally patricided his hot-tempered father Kronos at the cost of risking all creation withering together. Less than a week later, the enemy God-Emperor was using the destruction of the entire Greek world to force to the brink gods like them who were hard-bound to particular domains of the Greek world.
If there's no sky, there can be no sky god.
If the earth collapses, Gaia the earth-mother will fall.
If the oceans evaporate, what meaning is there to a sea god?
The entire Olympian pantheon had been shackled by traditional ideas of divine war.
When faced with the unimaginable striking power of a giant world—and an enemy's destructive strategy that didn't care whether their world survived—they were easily driven to the edge.
Zeus has never lacked decisiveness.
He leapt onto the "Thousand-Armed Giant" he controlled and fused the half of his divine body with the cut at his neck once more.
Though a purple taint of chaos washed across his face, it did nothing to diminish his imperial majesty.
The next second, his vast, world-shaking voice resounded across the Greek world.
"Damn that false emperor Thalos Borson—he's attacking our world with despicable means. If things go his way, the entire Greek world will be utterly destroyed. Be you mortal or god, no one will escape this curse of annihilation! Our only hope is to storm into Ginnungagap and burn that demon tree to ashes!"
"Survival or extinction?"
"I trust the choice isn't hard!"
"Olympian gods, hear my command—kill with me—"
Zeus's roar was met with a chorus from the remaining Olympians.
"Kill! Fight those damned Aesir to the end!"
"For Olympus—"
Soon, countless blazing clusters of divine light rose from the earth, pierced the tattered spatial barrier, entered the void, and charged toward the ultra-massive world ahead that looked a bit like a hedgehog.
On the terrace of Asgard's Golden Palace, Thalos smiled faintly.
"Since you seek destruction, I shall grant you destruction!"