Collector

He trembled with excitement, almost obsessively, as he mimed gripping the divine spear from hundreds of meters away. If it weren't for the presence of so many Asgardians around him, this collector with an insatiable desire would have undoubtedly dashed to the arena, pulled out Gungnir, and added it to his collection back at his lair.

His brother, the Grandmaster, however, was thoughtfully eyeing the Dwarf King, who stood quietly at the edge of the arena. Rubbing his chin with his right hand, the Grandmaster's gaze was inscrutable. He had closely observed the protective shield that had covered the arena earlier. The technology that allowed it to remain invisible while providing immense defense intrigued him greatly. 

As someone obsessed with his gladiatorial arena, the Grandmaster realized that if he could install such a shield in his own arena, he could host endless daily battles without the need to delay fights for repairs. Now, he was considering whether to abduct a few dwarves to build such a shield for him. 

Moreover, the grandeur of this arena impressed him deeply, making his own arena look childish by comparison.

Thanos, the Mad Titan, was also looking at the Dwarf King. With the support of the Celestials, he wasn't worried about reclaiming the Infinity Stones from Zane. It was time to forge a medium capable of withstanding the energy of the Infinity Stones, and across the entire universe, Thanos could only think of the Dwarves as capable of crafting such a powerful artifact.

The Dwarf King, unaware that two powerful beings were plotting against him, was still consumed by grief over Odin's passing. His race was deeply tied to Asgard; their fates were intertwined. The Dwarf King understood well the concept of "When the lips are gone, the teeth are cold," meaning that without Asgard's protection, the Dwarves would face great peril.

He knew that with Odin's death, the Dwarves would inevitably be caught in the coming storm. Zane had promised to protect Asgard for ten years, but he hadn't mentioned anything about Asgard's allies.

Zane was merely an ally of Asgard, and he made that promise out of respect for Odin. Zane wasn't their caretaker; what happened to the rest of them was none of his concern.

Now, the Dwarves were like a child holding a treasure, alone in an unlocked house while countless eyes outside coveted what they had. Just like their ancestors, who wandered the universe, living cautiously until they found stability under Asgard's protection, that stability was now gone.

The Dwarf King sighed heavily at this realization. Subconsciously, he reached for the quantum communicator he always carried and glanced at Zane, hovering above the arena. Zane had given him the communicator after crafting the Reaper's Scythe. The Dwarf King had thought he'd never need to use it, hoping to pass it down to future generations. But now, it seemed like the time to use this lifeline was approaching fast.

Let's set aside the various thoughts of those in the audience for a moment.

Now that the duel was over, the spectators had lost their purpose and it was time for them to leave. While the bigwigs in the front rows hadn't moved yet, the leaders of various civilizations seated in the back rows were eager to get up and leave this place filled with such powerful beings.

Even though they were the rulers of their own civilizations, here they were like small fry. Any one of the bigwigs could easily crush them with a flick of their fingers. The feeling of living in constant fear was something they didn't want to endure for even a second longer.

Seeing some people trying to leave, Zane, who was standing in the void, unleashed a sea of killing intent, immediately silencing the entire crowd. His focus was particularly intense on those few rulers who had already risen from their seats. In an instant, those who were about to leave found themselves frozen in place by Zane's terrifying presence.

"Did I say you could leave?" Zane's voice echoed coldly as he surveyed the audience. "The first act of the battle has ended, but there's still a second act. It's too early to leave now."

His voice, icy to the extreme, resonated deep within the souls of everyone present. Those who had started to get up quickly sat back down, their eyes filled with fear as they looked up at Zane, who hovered in the air.

Zane's gaze, however, shifted to the edge of the arena where a strange black dot had appeared in the void, though no one knew exactly when it had started forming. After Odin's complete demise, this strange singularity seemed to lose some form of suppression and began expanding wildly in all directions. In an instant, it formed a space-time wormhole.

Through the wormhole, Zane could clearly see the scene on the other side. Countless wailing spirits floated in the dark sky of that unknown space, their silent cries echoing in the air. The desolate ground below was devoid of any sign of life, with bleached bones covering every inch of the land. Ghostly flames flickered in the air, drifting with the wind and casting an eerie light on that dark world.

As the space-time wormhole fully opened, a figure with tattered clothes, barely covering her body, and disheveled hair began to saunter toward it from that realm of death.

Even before this figure had fully stepped out of the wormhole, a chilling wind, as if blowing from the land of death, swept across everyone's soul. For a moment, it seemed as if they could all hear the distant wails of ancient spirits. The pupils of some weaker civilization leaders began to dilate in fear.

It's fair to say these people were truly unfortunate. They had been living comfortably, ruling over their civilizations, only to suddenly receive a summons from the Skynet, commanding them to witness this event. Some who tried to defy the order were already eliminated by Skynet, leaving the rest with no choice but to obediently comply. 

Though they witnessed a spectacular battle, they could only cower in fear under the overwhelming presence of the bigwigs, not daring to make a sound for fear of provoking any of them and meeting their end.

And just when they thought they could finally leave, Zane stopped them, and now they were almost killed by the aura of this mysterious figure.

Yet, despite their pitiful circumstances, they didn't dare utter a single complaint. The universe isn't a fairytale; lives are sometimes just cold numbers, and no one cares how much blood is on whose hands.

In this brutal reality, weakness is a sin, and no one notices when the weak perish.

As the figure's foot touched the arena, the Reaper's Scythe on Zane's shoulder began to glow faintly. The woman, still halfway through the wormhole, took a deep, indulgent breath, and in that instant, her tattered battle attire seemed to come alive, repairing itself and covering her completely. Her previously disheveled hair became smooth and neat as a wave of energy passed over her.

Zane raised the Reaper's Scythe to eye level, curiously observing the faintly glowing Death Orb embedded in the scythe—the divine core of the previous Death.

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