Time screamed before Arin realized he was running.
The alley twisted like a wound in reality, walls bending at impossible angles. Shadows slithered along them, hissing in voices that weren't his own, whispering fragments of futures and threats that clawed at his mind. Every step the Chrono-Harvester took bent the street around it, rippling the world as though reality itself recoiled in fear.
"Stay close! It can smell fear!" Silas growled, dragging him forward. Arin's legs were on fire, muscles trembling, adrenaline hammering through his veins, yet his body moved automatically. The alley was narrow, littered with broken fragments of time: bricks frozen mid-air, rusted metal poles bent impossibly, shards of shattered reality humming softly under his fingertips as he passed.
A crack split the street behind them. Arin's stomach plummeted. The Chrono-Harvester wasn't running—it was sliding, its limbs bending in angles that defied nature, moving impossibly fast. The air around it shimmered, warping like water disturbed by a stone thrown with lethal force.
"Use the alleys!" Silas barked. He flung a silver symbol into the air; flames erupted in a cold, frozen glow. Time itself fractured in fragments; shadows recoiled, hissing. Instinct and the faintest whispers of his Echo guided Arin's run. He had never felt his power so raw, so alive, so frighteningly precise.
The alley twisted and narrowed further. Time seemed hesitant here—one second, a puddle froze mid-splash; the next, a broken streetlight bent like molten metal. Arin's Echo whispered glimpses of seconds yet to come: a brick about to fall, a pipe about to swing. He reacted instinctively, dodging, leaping, barely staying ahead of the fractures in reality.
Then came the ticking. Slow, deliberate. The sound of a death clock counting down each heartbeat, echoing inside his skull. Something older and hungrier than the Chrono-Harvester waited at the end of the alley.
Silas's eyes narrowed. "It's waiting. Don't hesitate. Don't falter."
Arin's chest tightened. Every timeline screamed the same truth: survival depended on more than speed. Shadows lunged, gnashing, tearing at reality's fabric. Arin flung his hands forward; his Echo flared uncontrollably. Time fractured beneath his fingers, slicing through the writhing darkness. Shadows screamed and scattered—but at the alley's end, a figure remained: patient, unmoving, impossibly dark.
Silas muttered, "This is only the beginning. You can fight, but surviving isn't guaranteed."
Arin's mind raced. The alley seemed to fold, twisting into a cage of shadows. A shard of darkness whispered across centuries:
You cannot hide. Not from me. Not from time itself.
Arin's hands burned with raw power. The Echo surged, bending reality beneath him. He swung instinctively, cutting through shadows. They shrieked, shredded into fragments—but the figure at the alley's end only tilted its head, watching, patient and deliberate.
The ticking grew louder, echoing in his chest. His pulse matched it. Adrenaline surged, nerves screamed for control, for survival.
He felt Silas's eyes on him, judging, measuring. "Good," Silas whispered. "But this isn't victory. The things out there… they don't forgive mistakes."
The alley walls shivered, twisted, pulsed. Arin's Echo responded, stretching reality like molten metal. Shadows recoiled, but beyond them, something waited—older-than-time, patient, deliberate.
Every instinct screamed at him to run. He could feel the Echo thrumming, alive and powerful, guiding him. He raised his hands again, shaping fractured moments of time into blades. They slashed through darkness. Shadows screamed, twisted, dissolved—but the figure at the alley's end only tilted its head, watching him.
"Do you feel it?" Silas whispered. "It's testing you. Every heartbeat, every step… it's counting you down."
Arin's chest tightened, but a spark of exhilaration ignited inside him. He had never felt this alive, this aware. The Echo pulsed through him, responding to fear, courage, willpower. The alley seemed endless, a living corridor of chaos. Shadows clawed, twisted, hissed. Reality bent, snapped, fractured around him.
And beyond the chaos, far away, he saw the first signs of the older, hungrier presence—patient, deliberate, waiting. Arin's legs shook, but he squared his shoulders. His Echo surged, cutting through the darkness. The shadows screamed—but beyond them, something far worse waited. Patient, deliberate, hungrier than anything he had faced before.
Arin's eyes caught Silas's. "I can… I can do this," he whispered. The sound barely reached himself, but the Echo responded, thrumming violently in resonance with his heartbeat.
Shadows recoiled, fragments of time folding, twisting at his command. The alley pulsed, alive with his power, reality bending under the Echo's force. The patient figure didn't move, but Arin felt it watching, learning, calculating.
A deep, resonant tick echoed through the alley, louder than before. The countdown continued. Every heartbeat was measured, every step observed. And Arin realized: surviving this was not just about running. It was about mastering the Echo itself.
He clenched his fists, feeling the raw surge of power thrumming through him, knowing the coming battle would define everything.