All things withered, and the gods fled. Amid this scene of despair, Loki and Tony looked utterly out of place.
Compared to the panicked gods, the two seemed like outsiders, watching the scene calmly without a trace of alarm.
"Shouldn't we leave?" Loki reminded him.
Everyone was fleeing. Standing there watching the show made them rather conspicuous.
At those words, Tony was about to nod, but when his gaze swept over Heimdall, the words on his lips changed instantly.
"Don't rush. The show's only just begun. How can the audience leave early?"
Loki gave a soft sound of surprise and looked at Tony with a flicker of confusion.
But Tony wasn't looking at him. His eyes remained fixed on Heimdall.
Loki followed his gaze and immediately caught sight of Heimdall, his face filled with grief and resolve.
"What is he trying to do?" Loki asked in confusion.
"This world has never lacked people with fighting spirit. It seems not all the gods are utterly useless."
Tony spoke calmly, and Loki immediately understood.
Sure enough, the next moment, the grief-stricken Heimdall suddenly threw his head back and roared, "Hela, crawl back to your Hell!"
With that, Heimdall shot into the sky, fearlessly swinging his greatsword at Hela.
A blade of sword energy tore through the heavens, blazing with dazzling light under the infusion of divine power.
The sight not only stunned Hela for a moment, but also made the fleeing gods instinctively glance back.
A moment later, the sword light reached her. Hela snapped out of her surprise and, with an icy smile on her lips, calmly extended a finger.
Death power gathered at her fingertip and collided with the sword light.
The seemingly indestructible sword light shattered under Hela's single finger. Without slowing, that finger struck Heimdall in the chest.