Chapter 159: Butcher Carving an Ox

This is exactly why Thor is so likable! Most of the time, he's kind of a goof, but when it really matters, he doesn’t mess around. Even in complicated situations, he figures things out quickly. You get it?

You get it, great! If not, how could I, Atreus, have the nerve to NTR Dark Elf's mothership in front of everyone?

I've wanted to tell his ship for the longest time, "Prime Minister, I understand now!"

Slurp, slurp!

Atreus was practically drooling in his heart. Meanwhile, Thor’s expression toward Atreus had completely ch4nged. It was a look of absolute camaraderie: To protect his people, he’d even fight enemies from beyond Earth. What noble character! Kratos is exactly like I imagined! We're brothers who share the same ideals!

"Hey! Kratos! You're late! You should’ve helped me destroy the Aether Particle earlier!" Thor called out with his booming voice, waving to Atreus from a distance.

"Really? I think I showed up just in time," Atreus joked while subtly directing a sharp glance at Loki, standing nearby.

Loki's hair stood on end instantly, and the long-buried feelings of humiliation resurfaced. Wait, hold on, this time, theoretically, I’m on the same side as that bastard... right?

At that moment, Loki came up with 233 new schemes. Yet, for some reason, he also felt a little sour: Why does my 'dear' brother make friends with so many powerful people so easily?

As Thor and Atreus carried on without a care, the dark elves were the ones feeling the most irritated!

"You puny humans dare to stop the great revival of the dark elves?!" Malekith roared in rage, pointing at Atreus. Instantly, dozens of his dark elf soldiers raised their laser guns, ready to fire.

Suddenly, a dark figure shot out of an open hatch on the Black Cross mothership, descending like a bolt of black lightning.

Boom!

The impact was like a 203mm cannon shell.

Blood splattered, and debris flew everywhere.

As the dust cleared, all that remained was a shallow ring of flesh and a massive crater two meters deep and over thirty meters wide.

Standing in the center of the crater, in a fighting stance, was none other than Faora.

Thor's eyes lit up, and in his typical blunt fashion, he asked Atreus, "Who's the fierce lady?"

Atreus, still staring at Malekith, replied casually, "New recruit."

Faora's face twitched slightly, turning red with a str4nge blush, but she didn’t argue. It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried to resist before, but every attempt led to even stronger suppression. She’d had enough of that terrifying, primal punishment. Compared to that, she preferred releasing her strength on the battlefield.

Atreus pointed at Malekith. "Faora, that one's yours."

Malekith was furious. "Don’t underestimate me!"

He waved his arms, and the Aether Particle surged out of his back like waves of water, or perhaps fiery arcs, spreading like wings and rushing toward Atreus and Faora.

He intended to use the power of this divine artifact to take down both of them in one blow. But before the bloody tide could even get close, Faora had already darted away with a quick S-shaped maneuver.

Unlike Loki, who liked to rely on trickery and illusions, every move Faora made was straightforward and full of brute force.

No fancy tricks—just a punch straight to the face.

Boom!

That punch was terrifyingly strong.

Seeing this powerful woman charging at him, Malekith quickly transformed the Aether into a blood-red shield to block in front of himself.

And guess what happened next?

Faora punched the Aether so hard that the half-sphere shield deformed into a concave shape, and the impact sent Malekith flying dozens of meters away.

Of course, Faora didn’t come out unscathed either. A massive whip, formed from the Aether, lashed across her.

But Faora didn’t retreat; she charged forward, pushing through the Aether tide, continuing her pursuit of Malekith.

Faora, after all, could endure a lot (as Atreus had personally confirmed).

Meanwhile, Thor, Loki, and Atreus teamed up to fight the cursed warrior.

As the unquestioned main attacker, Thor always led the charge.

No matter how many times Atreus had fought alongside him, it was always the same—Thor's high attack power and durability made him unstoppable.

Thor's presence was so overwhelming that no one could ignore him.

"Argh!" Thor leaped into the air, lightning swirling around his short-handled hammer, and he slammed it toward the cursed warrior’s horned helmet with unstoppable momentum.

One moment, Thor was flying in for the attack, and the next, he was sent flying in the opposite direction.

His battle cry had been so bold, and his defeat was equally as embarrassing.

The way he bounced around like a ping-pong ball was downright ridiculous.

Atreus estimated that Thor’s strength was in the high hundreds, but this cursed warrior, the second-in-command of the dark elves, had at least twice that strength.

Just watching the way Thor got knocked back made Loki’s teeth hurt.

That’s the tragedy of a strength-based warrior: when the power you pride yourself on gets overwhelmed, you become extremely passive.

Don’t forget, Thor still hadn’t completed his transformation into the "God of Thunder"—he was just the "Hammer God!"

Originally, Algrim, the cursed warrior, had planned to bring down a massive stone pillar to smash Thor, but he forgot about Atreus.

Just as Algrim lifted the thousand-ton stone, Atreus’s blade struck like a ghost.

Shing!

The blade itself was cold.

But Atreus’s strike seemed to add a bit of sunlight to this dark planet.

The golden glow that should have been dazzling was instead muted by the fire element Atreus deliberately added, concealing most of the deadly aura, which meant Algrim didn’t react in time.

No!

In fact, cursed warriors don’t fear injury.

Their greatest trait is their durability!

Since cursed warriors are doomed to die once they burn through their life force and soul, injuries don’t bother them.

In their eyes, taking damage to kill stronger opponents in their limited time is the right strategy.

Algrim knew the blade was coming but didn’t dodge. The result was sealed the moment the blade touched his right bicep.

He’d imagined that his tough, rock-like muscles would block the blade, or at least stop it long enough for him to trade blows. But the sword sliced through his arm like butter, carving through the bicep, and even turning at the elbow to slice cleanly through the joint.

This was a perfect display of butcher carving an ox level mastery!

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