Tyr!
This soul was actually Tyr!
The legendary Norse god of war had been reduced to such a state?
Neither man nor ghost, he had lost his physical body somewhere, and now he was as thin as a stick, with deep-set eyes that showed no trace of his former godly prowess.
But thinking of the death goddess Hera, John understood.
However, the next realization made John's heart sink.
How powerful was Hades?
What kind of strength could instill such fear in two gods, making them tremble at the mere sound of his voice?
"Enough, leave my palace, and I will spare you."
Hearing this, Tyr fled from the arena in the blink of an eye, as if granted a pardon.
"John, you cannot use the souls in this fight. It would be unfair to Falms."
"I... I understand."
Tyr's plight made John realize once again that the figure sitting high in the stands was never a benevolent benefactor.
He was the king of the underworld, a supreme god.
