Bragi stood amid the ruins of the divine mountain, his face streaked with tears, his eyes closed as he stroked the harp.
His lips parted slightly as he recited the words from the letter. Countless voices overlapped, like an ancient, desolate poem.
The poems became invisible ripples that spread outward. Every Norse God connected to Asgard's origin stopped what they were doing and stood frozen like statues. Even the little red worms writhing within their bodies seemed to be moved by the poem, gradually falling still.
Within this music and poetry, an unprecedented sorrow was washing over the blood-red haze that shrouded Norse Mythology...
Lin Qiye raised a hand and wiped away the tears streaming uncontrollably from the corners of his eyes, murmuring to himself,
"So this is... The Sky's Poet?"
Even though Bragi had already reached the supreme realm, weaving music into the origin signal and transmitting it throughout all of Asgard was no easy task.
He had to merge the sound of the harp with the deepest emotions in his heart to unleash the full power of The Sky's Poet. And for Bragi at this moment, those deepest emotions were longing and grief.
Clang—!
As Bragi lightly plucked a string, flickering phantom light surged from his body.
At the same time, the godhood of every Norse God standing motionless throughout Asgard split open with a crack. Their connection to the origin was rapidly weakening... and along with it, their realms were weakening as well.
Under Bragi's control, the origin siphoned the Power of Faith from their bodies. Those at the Lord God level began to fall toward the Lesser God realm, while the divine power of the Lesser Gods continuously withered away...
In just a few dozen seconds, the strength of every Norse God had dropped by an