"Ptooey. Tastes awful."
Spitting out the scraps in his mouth, Roland shook the headless corpse in his hand in disgust.
Apollo had died that easily, unable even to scream. Scarlet blood gushed from the great hole in his neck like soda opened after being shaken.
But Roland did not immediately throw the corpse to the ground. He simply watched him in silence.
"What are you playing dead for? It's just a fatal wound. Wake up!"
Boom-!
As though answering his words, the thunderous eruption of immense power suddenly echoed through the night sky. A tremendous force burst from Apollo's headless body, shooting straight into the heavens with a radiance bright enough to scorch human eyes.
The spectacle reached the heavens, and even in the more distant forests, flocks of startled birds took flight.
A thousand years ago, the gods had descended to the lower world and begun forging a new mythology.
After repeated conflicts with the Dungeon and the establishment of a certain mutual understanding, sealing their divine power had become a commandment shared by all the gods.
Evil and benevolent gods alike were bound by this ironclad rule. Beyond their inherent traits and knowledge, they had nothing to rely on. Their physical capabilities were no different from those of ordinary people, and in theory, even an ordinary person could inflict a fatal wound on a god.
In reality, however, apart from the incident orchestrated by the Dark Faction decades ago to send gods back to Heaven, divine returns had only occurred during disasters or as punishments in War Games.
The fundamental reason was that gods did not die.
Once they suffered a fatal wound, their divine power would activate on its own, unleashing tremendous force as they returned to Heaven. Before their return, even if they did nothing and