Stupid Odin

The Aztecs were utterly collapsing. In the past, one would always hear the resounding war songs of the eagles in Tenochtitlan, but now, besides panicked shouts, there were only whimpering cries. Facing the revenge of the Slavic gods, large numbers of Aztecs were being carelessly harvested like wheat in a field. Many more were injured, dragging their hands and feet, frozen into icy lumps, and stumbling to their feet.

Their gods had fallen and no longer responded.

But the bloody world they and their gods had built had already crumbled. Ultimate violence and cruelty were finally being settled. In this moment of slaughter, none of the seemingly pitiful Aztecs were innocent.

The injured staggered to their feet, trying to huddle together with the nearest people, attempting to retreat to the world of the Mayans.

After all, that was the world of gods with the same lineage!

Unfortunately, there was no chance.

The Aztec Four-Sided Temple was destroyed, and all the enslaved gods regained their divine power and freedom. They wanted to repay the Aztecs' abuse and sacrifices to them a thousandfold.

Among them, the dark-skinned gods were the most ferocious. They had even begun to force the newly captured Aztec mortal prisoners to kill each other.

Disgusting fellows.

Perrun's gaze towards them held undisguised disgust. These fellows had long since become divided. Those gods who had sided with the Aztec gods were naturally the first to be purged. Those who hadn't sided with them weren't much better off. Their divine souls had been completely twisted, becoming outright evil gods.

"We must not learn from them. Punishing devils does not require devilish methods. Just give them indiscriminate destruction."

"Oh, oh, oh!" The tormented Slavic gods still agreed.

Their world had already been destroyed, and from now on, they would have to rely on the Aesir's whims to survive. Through their negotiations with Loki a while ago, they already knew the Aesir's style of doing things—although they also maintained a basic slave system, they wouldn't push too hard. As long as one was willing to work for the Aesir and achieve military exploits, one could still live quite comfortably.

Giving the lower classes and the gods who sided with them a path to advancement was itself the greatest manifestation of King Thanatos's wisdom and benevolence.

It wasn't that the Slavic gods were willing to give up torturing their enemies just like that, but for the sake of the future, they had to choose between excessive revenge and upholding order.

Humans have bottom lines, and gods must also have them.

Without them, they would be killed by stronger beings.

Thanatos had this rule here, and he wouldn't tolerate anyone.

Loki had made his position clear. He was both the king's messenger and the king's supervisor.

If the Slavic gods lost control, Loki wouldn't stop them. He knew that Thanatos had mercy, but not much.

Among the Mayan Nine Lords of the Night, there was a relatively rare god—the suicide goddess Ixtab: Because the ancient Mayans viewed death as the path to heaven, Ixtab was also known as the guide.

As soon as she made a move, the originally collapsing Aztec front instantly stabilized.

Because…

Ixtab made a move. She suddenly waved her hand to the right, her cold gaze sweeping across the battlefield, seeing those 'rebellious' African gods seemingly lively and persecuting the Aztec mortals and god attendants in turn.

A secret divine power around this suicide goddess swept across the dark ground like dust, spreading to the front half of the battlefield, silently covering those dark-skinned African gods.

She adjusted her sleeves slightly, smoothing the precious dragon feathers on them in one direction, then pressing them down and straightening them.

"Base fellows, not knowing that dedicating yourselves to us is your greatest happiness."

She stretched out her slender fingers, with several or even dozens of semi-transparent black lines of varying thicknesses extending from each ring on her hand.

Looking directly at the end of these black lines, it was actually those 'rebellious' African gods and Slavic gods.

It was true that they had regained their lost divine souls, but the divine curse was not so easy to remove. Even if there was no initiator, there was another one here in Ixtab.

In her vision, the light emanating from these slave gods quickly dimmed, like a candle burning to its root. Although it was still burning, it was only emitting the last trace of residual heat.

A deep black network extended from the ground beneath her feet, passing over the gods near her and extending forward. The pulse of death surged forward in layers, connecting to each other, and finally this grid, exuding an eerie and dim light, wrapped around all the traitors in her eyes.

"In the name of the Maya, all of you, commit suicide!" Ixtab's declaration of death resounded throughout the battlefield.

The African gods, who were still gloating over their revenge a moment ago, suddenly had their eyeballs burst out of their sockets. They struggled in vain, trying to grab their eyeballs with their pink palms and put them back in before their vision completely disappeared.

This was doomed to be futile.

Because their hands were out of control, actually strangling their own necks.

Their bulging eyeballs were stubbornly watching this scene in reverse.

They were being 'made' to commit suicide.

In addition to their arms, their weapons were also stabbing their own divine bodies non-stop, allowing the already turbid divine blood to spurt out, never stopping for a moment.

Their mouths lost control, constantly shouting "Long live the Maya."

One after another, these ridiculous and equally violent avengers died in front of the Slavic gods just like that.

Perrun was shocked.

They were also entangled by the death curse.

To deal with this kind of divine death curse, there were only two methods: one was to completely dismantle the death curse, from its source of power to the spell that constituted it, and even the caster, all of them were annihilated; the other was to completely offset the death's claim on their bodies and souls at the cost of vast vitality.

Perrun took the lead and knelt down towards the World Tree in the rear: "Your Majesty Thanatos Paulsen! The Slavic gods request your assistance and mercy. As long as we get through this, we will swear to serve Your Majesty to the death, forever."

To be honest, Perrun didn't feel much hope.

They were just a group of wandering gods who had lost their ancestral land, and they were carrying such a big curse. With Thanatos's strength, who wouldn't he save? Saving them, from the perspective of divine power and the world, was definitely a losing proposition.

But…

He just saved them.

"Your prayers and oaths, I have received, I grant them."

Along with this voice that resounded throughout the heavens and the earth, a branch of the World Tree grew over, dripping a drop of the water of life on each Slavic god.

—

ps, The operation was successful, typing with one hand, discharged from the hospital next Monday.