Each breath was a groan in stone, a shudder of broken time, the cavern itself flickering between decayed futures and half-erased pasts. Light came and went, not as illumination, but as flashes of forgotten moments—memories no one remembered bleeding across the air.
Jiryu stood in the center, his body warped by gears and cursed time. Every twitch of his muscle ticked like a fractured clock, every breath came with a metallic rasp like chains snapping from a failing prison.
Dark didn't move.
Cron, however, cracked his knuckles and leaned against the wall like he had nothing to do with anything. His voice was too casual. Purposefully so.
Cron: (smirking) So... "Cursed Son of Time," huh? You sure you're not just some rusted gear that Sojo kicked under the bed?
Jiryu's head twitched once.
Then again.
Then again—faster—like a malfunctioning puppet.
And then he snapped.
Jiryu: (snarling) I WASN'T FORGOTTEN.
His voice cracked open the stone behind him—literally. The sound of his scream shattered a pillar in the back of the chamber. Dust sprayed outward, and one of the temporal sigils on the wall bled ink.
Cron didn't flinch.
Cron: (raising an eyebrow) Damn. Calm down. You're twitchier than Tier's coffee machine.
Jiryu vanished.
Not moved. Not stepped.
Vanished.
He reappeared directly in front of Cron, a blade of twisted bone and shattered clockwork erupting from his forearm—already stabbing through Cron's abdomen before the others could blink.
Leona: Cron—!!
The blade went through with a squelch, piercing his stomach, shattering the spine, and dragging organs out as it withdrew.
Blood sprayed from Cron's mouth in a thick stream, eyes wide, the impact so brutal his body convulsed violently in mid-air. His ribs broke outward—not inward—like his own bones were trying to escape his body.
Jiryu didn't stop. His hand grabbed Cron's face mid-fall and slammed him into the floor with such force that the ground cracked open like dry bone. A shockwave tore upward, splitting the chamber floor and flinging chunks of solid rock in every direction.
Jiryu: (spitting) You think you're immortal?
He stomped on Cron's chest.
Cron's torso folded in on itself, ribs crunching like brittle glass, lungs rupturing as blood gurgled through his throat.
Dark: (coldly) That's enough.
But Cron laughed—through his own blood. His crushed chest expanded, bones popping back into place with sickening cracks, muscles knitting together while his heart pumped again after only seconds.
Cron: (wheezing) I told you...
He sat up, grinning as he wiped blood from his teeth.
Cron: ...Toaster or not, I don't die.
Jiryu screeched and swung again—but this time Dark intercepted.
His katana came down not like a weapon—but like a punishment.
Steel met corrupted bone, and the moment they touched, Jiryu's blade exploded. Shards of cursed metal and bone flew everywhere, one fragment lodging into his own shoulder, another ripping through his face—splitting his cheek wide open down to the jawline.
Dark: (quietly) Your anger is loud. But it doesn't make you dangerous.
Jiryu's body twitched violently. His arms reconfigured, blades sprouting from the joints like claws blooming in reverse.
Jiryu: (screaming) I AM THE WOUND TIME NEVER HEALED!
He launched forward, both arms whirling into a spiral of slashes meant to gut, slice, remove—but Gilmuar was already there.
Gilmuar caught the first arm.
It kept going.
So he ripped it off.
No finesse. Just pure strength. Flesh tore, gears snapped, and Jiryu's right arm was yanked from his socket like a weed. Blood, black and laced with static, sprayed in a wide arc across the wall.
Jiryu screamed.
Gilmuar responded by grabbing his skull and driving it into the ground.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each slam cracked the floor deeper, until Jiryu's face wasn't a face—it was just teeth, broken bone, and dripping meat.
And still, he regenerated.
He kicked Gilmuar off him—ribs snapping—and bolted toward Leona.
Leona raised her arm—and her shoulder was instantly pierced by a temporal spike that had materialized beside her.
The spike spun.
Flesh tore like ribbon.
She screamed.
Tier moved—rushed in with a tech-enhanced slide, raising his plasma sabers and severing the spike before it could burrow deeper.
Tier: Leona—! Stay down!
Leona's eyes were wide—face pale, her arm dangling by a thread of muscle.
Leona: (gasping) F-Fuck—!
Jiryu hissed as Tier's sabers carved deep slashes across his torso, plasma cutting through bone and gears—but not slowing him down.
Jiryu: You can't kill what wasn't meant to exist.
Dark appeared behind him.
No sound.
Just violence.
He didn't slash. He stabbed.
Right through Jiryu's spine.
The katana erupted from his chest, tip gleaming with burning essence. Dark twisted the blade once, then kicked it deeper.
Dark: You exist now.
Dark: And I kill what exists.
Jiryu roared in agony. His body detonated in a burst of corrupted time energy, sending everyone flying.
A crater opened beneath him. Bodies smashed into stone. Gilmuar tumbled into a jagged wall. Cron flew into a broken pillar, snapping it clean in half. Leona crashed into Tier, both of them rolling across the floor, blood trailing in thin lines behind them.
Dark stood in the center, coat torn, katana humming.
The dust cleared.
And Jiryu was still standing.
More monstrous than before.
His face had reshaped—but wrong. His mouth was too wide now. His fingers had become claws. Eyes were gone—replaced by a clock face split in half, both hands spinning opposite directions.
Jiryu: (low, guttural) No more words.
Jiryu: Only death.
The silence that followed those words wasn't peace.
It was pressure.
Like a collapsing star had whispered in reverse.
Jiryu's final syllable had barely finished echoing when the ground beneath them gave a pulse—once—and then fractured. Not cracked like stone under weight, but like a memory being torn in half. The entire chamber flexed, warping unnaturally as time lost its footing. The air folded. The walls bled rust. Symbols on the stone writhed as if suffocating on history itself.
And then Jiryu moved.
It wasn't teleportation. It wasn't speed.
It was hate crossing distance.
In an instant, he was in front of Cron.
Jiryu's hand drove into Cron's gut like a rusted spear, his fingers bursting through skin, muscle, and bone, and slamming out through Cron's back in a spray of blood that hit the wall like thick paint thrown by a god in rage. Cron's eyes went wide, but his mouth never opened—Jiryu didn't let him scream.
Jiryu: (snarling) You breathe like him.
He twisted.
Cron's entire body was lifted and spun like a ragdoll, his spine screaming audibly as it was bent the wrong direction. Jiryu let go mid-spin, sending Cron hurling across the chamber like a shot corpse. Cron's body hit the ground and skipped twice—bones crunching with each impact—before slamming into a stone pillar hard enough to collapse it.
Dark was already moving.
He didn't need words. He didn't need orders.
His sword was in hand—Kyuketsu gleaming like a reaper under moonlight. He dashed forward, coat trailing behind like shadow given flesh, his eyes locked dead ahead.
Jiryu caught the first swing.
With his neck.
The blade dug into the side of his throat—cut clean through to the bone—but Jiryu didn't even flinch. Instead, he grinned, blood pumping from the gash in slow, deliberate pulses, splattering down his chest like a crown of crimson.
Jiryu: (grating) It tickled.
He headbutted Dark.
Not once. Three times. Rapid. Unforgiving.
Bone crunched.
Dark's nose exploded inward. The second hit cracked his jaw to the left. The third sent a line of blood arcing from his mouth as he staggered back.
Jiryu followed—reaching forward with both hands and grabbing Dark by the arms.
Then he pulled.
The sound was unnatural.
The skin of Dark's left shoulder tore free from muscle. Tendons popped like guitar strings under pressure. His arm was nearly torn out of socket before he countered with a vicious knee to Jiryu's ribs, snapping two on contact—but even that didn't stop him.
Jiryu retaliated by slamming his forehead into Dark's sternum, caving in the upper part of his chest. The sound was like a bat being snapped over a rock.
Dark coughed violently, but twisted in midair and kicked Jiryu away with both feet—sending the monster stumbling back.
Blood dripped from Jiryu's mouth. But he laughed.
Jiryu: (cracking his neck) Is that all the "Chosen Shadow" can do? Weak. Weak. Weak.
A bolt of violet light shot from behind—Leona.
Her sword of light carved toward Jiryu's back like a comet.
He didn't dodge.
He let it hit.
The blade sliced through flesh—carving open his back down to the spine. Bone shimmered beneath, wet and gleaming. But before Leona could retreat, Jiryu's body twisted unnaturally, his spine turning farther than anatomy allowed, and he backhanded her so hard across the face her jaw dislocated mid-air.
Leona was thrown sideways—her body slamming into the wall. Teeth sprayed out across the floor.
Jiryu: (mocking) Did that hurt, little star? Want to try again?
He turned—
And Gilmuar was there.
No warning. Just impact.
Gilmuar's fist connected with Jiryu's face, snapping his head back with enough force to rip the flesh along his cheek. His next punch was faster—straight to the sternum, creating a sonic boom from the speed of the blow. The third strike was open-palm—aimed at Jiryu's chin, slamming upward like a cannon. Bone cracked.
But Jiryu grinned wider.
Jiryu: (grating) Father's favorite pet.
He stabbed his fingers into Gilmuar's stomach and lifted him up—one-handed. Then hurled him into the ceiling. The stone above exploded into debris and fire as Gilmuar's body tore through it, vanishing into darkness above.
Jiryu turned again, just in time to meet a spinning blade—Tier's drone sword, guided by a console built into his gloves.
It slashed across Jiryu's shoulder—deep—but he didn't flinch. Instead, he caught it mid-slice. With two fingers.
He squeezed.
Metal snapped like glass under foot.
Tier's eyes went wide.
Tier: (muttering) That's impossible—
Jiryu hurled the broken blade at him like a spear. It impaled Tier through the shoulder, pinning him against the wall. The tip punched through with a wet squelch, blood bursting from Tier's mouth.
Jiryu didn't even look back.
Jiryu: (to himself) None of you understand. I am not rage.
Jiryu: I am punishment.
He turned again—Dark was back on his feet.
Covered in blood. Chest cracked. Jaw set. Sword up.
And for the first time—
Dark smiled.
Dark: You talk too much.
Dark dashed forward again.
But this time, he wasn't alone.
Cron returned from the rubble—half of his torso torn open, organs exposed, leaking blood down his side. But he was alive. Regenerating.
And angry.
Cron: Jiryu... welcome to the part where I stop caring.
He warped.
Literally blinked through space, reappearing behind Jiryu with a blade of copied Kyuketsu in one hand and a warhammer of spatial distortion in the other.
Jiryu turned—
And Cron smashed the warhammer across his head, bending it sideways with a crack that shook the floor. Bone split. Blood sprayed.
Jiryu screamed.
But Cron wasn't done.
He stabbed the Kyuketsu-clone blade through Jiryu's lower back—then twisted. The blade screamed as it dug through flesh, then bone, then punched out through Jiryu's hip.
Jiryu roared in agony, but caught Cron's wrist before he could pull the blade free.
He laughed.
Blood gurgled out of his throat.
Jiryu: Good.
Jiryu: NOW WE'RE STARTING!
Then he snapped Cron's wrist backwards with a crunch that sent bone spearing through skin.
Dark: (shouting) CRON—!
Too late.
Jiryu grabbed Cron by the head and slammed it into the ground.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
Each hit left a crater.
On the fourth, he pulled back—and tossed Cron like garbage.
Cron's body skipped across the stone floor like a broken ragdoll—his skull fractured, jaw hanging sideways, one arm completely backwards. But his heart still beat.
Barely.
Dark's sword lit up now.
No more restraint.
He launched forward with a scream—not of rage, but of decision.
Kyuketsu met Jiryu again—but this time, it bit deeper.
Bone split.
Jiryu screamed.
And Dark... smiled.
Kyuketsu dug in deep, slicing past bone, past resistance, grinding through the sinew of a demigod's shoulder. Blackened blood shot out in thick arcs, painting the air like cursed oil igniting the battlefield in stench and heat. Jiryu stumbled back—only one step—but it was enough to send a tremor across the entire cavern. The sound wasn't just pain. It was rage being born.
Jiryu: (voice cracking) YOU DARE—
But before he could finish, Cron blurred behind him—an uppercut laced with wind magic and raw, condensed gravity slammed into the base of Jiryu's skull. The crack echoed. A tooth exploded from Jiryu's mouth and ricocheted off a wall like a bullet.
Cron: You talk too much.
Jiryu twisted violently, backhanding Cron with a whip of temporal blades extending from his ribs. The impact should've erased Cron's head—but it passed through, splitting a decoy clone in half.
The real Cron reappeared ten meters above, blades of light and void in each hand, dual-wielding the raw blueprint of every weapon he had ever seen.
Cron: Arsenal: Twin Graves.
He dropped like a missile—blades forward, cleaving into Jiryu's back. One sliced down the spine, the other across it, forming an X that detonated on contact with timed-implosion magic. A shockwave ripped outward.
Tier flew in through the blast. His entire body was coated in an exosuit formed from nanite layering—each plate vibrating with quantum friction fields. He spun mid-air, drove his heel into Jiryu's jaw in a spinning hook kick that would have decapitated any other being. Instead—it snapped Jiryu's head to the side.
Tier: Get your throat ready. You're gonna be choking on your teeth.
Jiryu didn't flinch.
His body lit with tendrils of time-burning fire.
His mouth split too wide.
And his scream shattered the air.
It wasn't just volume—it was a frequency older than language. The cavern's walls cracked instantly, bleeding sand that shouldn't have existed anymore. Cron's ears burst. Tier's armor glitched. Leona staggered and vomited blood.
Then the monster moved.
Jiryu spun.
His heel smashed into Tier's chest, shattering half the exosuit in one hit and sending him rocketing into the wall. The bones in Tier's ribcage bent inward. Tier's mouth opened, but no sound came out—just red.
Jiryu caught Cron next.
Mid-teleport.
His hand burst through Cron's stomach, curling through his insides like fingers inside warm meat.
Dark: CRON!
Jiryu: You all bleed the same.
He hurled Cron's body like trash. Cron hit the ground in a skid of blood and broken limbs, then vanished into his own spatial rift. Retreat. Emergency stasis. It was the only way to stop his body from collapsing.
Dark dashed forward, blade first, unleashing a vertical slash.
Jiryu caught the blade.
Not with a hand.
With his teeth.
Kyuketsu screamed against his fangs. Sparks flew.
Jiryu: You are not him. You're not even a fracture of him!
Dark headbutted Jiryu point-blank. Bone met bone. Both skulls cracked—but Dark didn't stop. He followed with a palm strike to the throat, a shin-kick to the knee, and another horizontal cleave from Kyuketsu. It drew blood—but it wasn't deep enough.
Leona joined in, appearing in a blinding flash behind Jiryu. She drove her blade through his spine.
The blade passed through.
Her expression twisted in confusion.
Then Jiryu spun again.
This time his arm deformed—extending like tendons on fire—and slammed into Leona's midsection with a full force lariat. Her spine snapped audibly. Her body hit the ground in an unnatural arch. She gasped once—and coughed blood across her own face.
Gilmuar caught her before she could hit the rocks again.
His hands trembled.
Not from fear.
But from something older.
Something stirring.
Jiryu: Brother...
Gilmuar's eyes twitched.
Jiryu: Don't act like you're not.
Jiryu pointed a trembling finger, half laughing, half choking on the heat inside his own throat.
Jiryu: You smell like him. You reek of father's arrogance. His silence. You were the first, weren't you? The perfect son.
Dark: (thinking) He's... targeting Gilmuar more than the rest.
Jiryu launched forward—eyes locked on Gilmuar. Hands coated in ash and timefire. Not weapons. Just hatred.
Gilmuar: (thinking) Move, legs.
His body resisted.
Then Leona stirred in his arms, coughing.
Gilmuar looked down.
Then snapped.
He shoved her aside gently—and raised his hand.
No chant.
No form.
Just—
Force.
The moment Jiryu reached him, Gilmuar's palm met his chest.
And everything exploded.
Not outward.
Inward.
Jiryu's torso compacted like a neutron star. Bones folded. Flesh groaned. A pocket implosion happened in his ribcage. He flew backward, skipping across the cavern like a ragdoll of shattered glass and sin.
Dark: (blinking) Gilmuar...
Gilmuar stepped forward—slowly now.
And the air around him started to crack.
He didn't speak.
He didn't roar.
But his blood boiled. Visibly.
Gilmuar: You're my brother?
Gilmuar: Then I'll bury you myself.
Jiryu's body regenerated violently mid-roll. Bones snapping back into place, muscles folding over wounds. His face twisted—not in pain. In pleasure.
Jiryu: (laughing) Yes. Yes. THAT'S it.
He stood again.
And the floor beneath them started to melt.
Cron reappeared behind Dark, bleeding, half his face torn open.
Cron: He's not regenerating. He's rewriting himself.
Dark: What?
Cron: He's using time logic to change how damage works. Our attacks are effective—but only Gilmuar is breaking through the logic.
Jiryu: (howling) Because he was born of the root! Like me! The first failure against time!
Gilmuar raised both hands.
His aura exploded.
And for the first time—his presence surpassed Jiryu's.
It was unstable. Raw. Volatile.
Gilmuar: (thinking) This power... it's Kenzo's.
Gilmuar: (whispering) So he passed it to me after all...
His feet lifted off the ground.
A cyclone formed around his body.
The cavern could barely hold it.
Jiryu lunged again.
But Gilmuar met him mid-air.
And punched his jaw off.
Not dislocated.
Obliterated.
Blood sprayed like thick tar. Jiryu's head spun half a circle, and Gilmuar followed up with a straight knee to his chest—shattering his ribs and launching his spine up through his own back like a fountain of shattered vertebrae.
Jiryu SCREAMED.
But that scream didn't just echo—it shattered the air.
The cavern itself cracked.
Jiryu's foot whipped up mid-scream, catching Gilmuar under the chin. A thunderous crack exploded outward as Gilmuar was sent flipping through the air like a mangled puppet—his jaw snapping sideways, the lower half of his face briefly separating before regenerating with sparks of divine time-energy.
Dark moved instantly—Kyuketsu arcing forward in a high slash aimed at Jiryu's neck.
Jiryu caught the blade.
Not with a hand.
With his shoulder.
The steel dug in halfway, crunching through bone, and stopped—stuck.
Jiryu: (voice breaking apart) YOUUUU—!!
He leaned forward, taking the full edge of Kyuketsu deeper into his shoulder—and bit into Dark's neck with fanged teeth, tearing through skin and muscle like meat. Blood fountained.
Dark snarled, slamming his forehead into Jiryu's temple—once, twice, a third time—until the side of Jiryu's face dented. Skin folded. Orbital bone shattered. But he didn't fall.
He spun.
Jiryu twisted like a serpent dipped in madness, backhanding Dark with a feral screech so hard it collapsed the air between them. Dark's body bounced off the ground three times—bone snapping through his left arm, ribs punching through his chest—and rolled to a stop in a pool of his own blood.
Jiryu: (staggering forward) YOU'RE—NOT—ENOUGH!!!
He turned—
Only to find Cron mid-sprint.
The immortal's hand extended, glowing red. Magic flared in his palm—an arsenal spike—shaped like a chainsaw blade made from frozen void.
Cron: (grinning) Suck this.
He slammed it into Jiryu's spine.
The impact detonated like an earthquake underwater. The blade chewed through Jiryu's back in a spiral of blood and twisted flesh, spraying melted cartilage and nerve tendons as Cron pushed harder, teeth clenched, screaming into the resistance.
Jiryu howled, spun in a blind rage—and drove his fist clean through Cron's stomach.
Not into.
Through.
Blood burst from Cron's mouth.
But he smiled.
Cron: (laughing) I'm immortal, bitch.
He headbutted Jiryu in return—forehead to nose. Jiryu's skull cracked. But he didn't fall.
Jiryu grabbed Cron's arms, ripped them off, and beat him with them—slamming both limbs into Cron's chest until bones exploded outward like splinters of ivory.
Cron hit the wall with a wet crunch, gasping, torso half-caved in.
Leona: (charging) MOVE!
She dove forward, sliding under Jiryu's next swing—her foot sweeping out, catching him behind the knees. He stumbled. She jumped up, flipping mid-air, both fists wrapped in reinforced knuckle-sheaths laced with compressed kinetic detonators.
BOOM.
Both fists connected with Jiryu's jaw, twisting his head full 180 degrees—SNAP.
His neck snapped.
He still didn't fall.
Leona landed on his shoulders and jammed a needle between the bones of his neck—injecting a frozen magic toxin stolen from Clum's arsenal. His body twitched, arcs of freezing energy seizing his muscles.
Leona: Gil! NOW!
Gilmuar teleported.
Straight elbow to the face. Jiryu's skull crumpled inward. A geyser of blood exploded from the side of his head as Gilmuar followed it with three fast punches—left, right, left—each one hyperaccelerated, each strike shattering part of Jiryu's facial structure. Teeth sprayed like shattered ceramic.
Jiryu fell to one knee.
But he didn't stay down.
His aura erupted—no longer red. Not even black.
It was colorless.
A silent void that erased sound itself.
Gilmuar's foot shifted back in instinct.
Jiryu looked up slowly, blood oozing down his face, skull deformed, arms limp—but his eyes alive.
Jiryu: (whispering) You all die here.
His hand snapped up. A blast of reverse-time magic exploded outward in a 360-degree wave.
Stone turned to sand.
Blood turned to steam.
The world turned upside down.
Everyone was thrown. Dark landed hard, his spine audibly cracking as he hit the ceiling—then the floor—then a pillar. Gilmuar smashed through the side of the cave and vanished into rubble. Cron was already regenerating, but not fast enough. Tier was gone—somewhere behind collapsed tech rubble, shield barely holding.
Jiryu stood.
Limbs twisted. Spine bent. Face half-missing.
Jiryu: (softly) My father never wanted me. But he'll remember me.
Dark: (rising slowly) So this is all... because of abandonment?
Jiryu: EVERYTHING is because of abandonment.
Dark spat blood.
Dark: Then you're not a threat.
Dark: You're a tantrum.
Jiryu ROARED and lunged—blades sprouting from his elbows, spinning like circular saws. Dark met him head-on, Kyuketsu clashing mid-air. Sparks lit the cave like lightning as their weapons sang, colliding in bursts of brutal force. Jiryu's strikes were insane—feral, chaotic, wild. But every movement was precise.
Martial.
He ducked under a swing, wrapped his arm around Dark's waist, judo-flipped him into the air, and slammed him through the floor—sending him crashing into an underground level covered in molten glyphs.
Dark groaned.
And above—
Gilmuar emerged from the dust. Half his body was broken. Bleeding from the mouth. His right leg crushed. But something inside him shifted.
A hum.
A whisper.
From his blood.
The same whisper Kenzo once heard before turning entire mountain ranges into ash.
Gilmuar: (eyes glowing) No more holding back...
His right arm burst into flame—not fire, but destructive force. The kind that didn't burn. The kind that unmade.
Jiryu looked up—eyes twitching.
Jiryu: What are you...
Gilmuar vanished.
And then—
Fist to face.
BOOOOOOM.
Jiryu's entire skull imploded inward like a crater, his body flung backwards through seven pillars. The floor broke. The sky cracked. Even time itself blinked—resetting and rebreaking around the blast.
The battlefield had changed.
Dark, bleeding, wiped his mouth and looked up at Gilmuar.
Dark: (smirking) Took you long enough.
Gilmuar: (panting) I'm not Kenzo...
Gilmuar: But I am his brother.
The air cracked—not with sound, but with awakening.
For a moment, there was no battlefield.
No Dark.
No Cron.
No Jiryu.
Only Gilmuar.
He stood frozen, blood coating his arms, sweat dripping down his temple, heart pounding like war drums inside a cathedral of rage. But something else moved beneath his skin now. Something old. Something unloved. A memory... and a fire.
His body seized—then snapped forward like a detonated cord.
Crimson light burst from his spine, ribcage flaring wide like it was trying to escape his flesh. His veins lit up like constellations of wrath. His bones cracked—no, realigned—twisting, reinforcing. His muscles stretched, tore, and rewove themselves with cords of flame-veined muscle. His aura erupted outward in a spiral of golden-white flame layered with black void runes, the very ground beneath him unraveling into molten strips of terrain.
Leona gasped, falling to her knees.
Cron backed up, shielding his face from the heat that shouldn't exist in this plane.
Tier's tech fried instantly, sparks erupting from his gauntlet.
Dark's eyes widened—but he didn't move.
Because he knew what this was.
Dark: (thinking) Sojo's inheritance... not blood... will.
Jiryu flinched, just once. A muscle in his jaw twitched as the pressure shifted.
Gilmuar's feet lifted off the ground—his shadow burned into the rock below.
And when he landed, he looked... changed.
Not bigger.
Not monstrous.
But right.
Like this was always how he was meant to be.
Gilmuar: (eyes glowing) I hated Kenzo. For a long time. I hated the chaos he left behind.
Gilmuar: The worlds he burned. The people he scarred. The innocence he shattered.
Gilmuar's fists clenched, and the flame that dripped from his fingers cracked the ground with every falling drop.
Gilmuar: But I watched him fight beside the person I trust most.
Gilmuar: And in that moment... I understood.
Gilmuar looked up now.
His eyes weren't glowing anymore.
They were alive.
Gilmuar: He never wanted to be a weapon.
Gilmuar: But he became one—for us.
Jiryu SCREAMED.
It wasn't rage anymore.
It was jealousy.
Jiryu: SHUT UP!
Jiryu lunged forward, his clawed hands burning with cursed time-energy. Shadows spiraled behind him like a collapsing universe—tens of millions of years of decay crashing into a single instant.
But Gilmuar moved first.
His knee rose—straight into Jiryu's stomach. The impact wasn't just physical—it was existential. Time folded around the point of contact like a crumpled page.
Jiryu's body ripped backward in three directions—spine folding, ribcage inverted, arms flailing like snapped rope. But Gilmuar didn't let him touch the ground.
He moved with Kenzo's chaos.
He stepped in, planted his foot, and drove his elbow into Jiryu's jaw with such force that Jiryu's entire mandible shattered outward, teeth and bone spraying like broken glass.
And then came the haymaker.
One punch.
Gilmuar's fist exploded against Jiryu's chest with the sound of a planet dying.
The air around the impact disintegrated. The shockwave wasn't a pulse—it was a hole. Reality vanished in a ten-meter radius. No flame. No smoke.
Just gone.
Jiryu's entire torso twisted—his ribs cracking, his lungs pulping inside his chest. He vomited blood and ichor and a half-formed scream that dissolved into a gurgle.
Gilmuar wasn't done.
He ducked low, pivoted, then uppercutted Jiryu straight into the air. But as Jiryu flew, his body spiraling out of control—
Gilmuar was already above him.
Cron: (shouting) HOW IS HE MOVING THAT FAST?!
Dark: (smiling) He's not moving. He's becoming.
Gilmuar slammed both fists down like hammers.
They collided with Jiryu's shoulders.
Jiryu's body shot downward, through the earth.
Not into a crater.
He was buried through seven layers of stone in one second.
And it didn't stop.
Because the explosion came next.
Gilmuar's body ignited, and he dived down after him like a meteor of burning fury—arms crossed in front of his face, boots first.
The moment he connected—
The continent shifted.
Mountains in the distance tilted.
The clouds warped into spirals.
And in a ten-kilometer radius?
Everything died.
Gilmuar rose from the abyss slowly, one hand dragging Jiryu's limp form behind him.
The Time-Broken Son was still breathing—but barely. His left eye was gone. His jaw was dislocated. His ribs were like broken piano keys jammed into his stomach. His spine twitched but didn't connect to anything anymore.
Gilmuar stood tall, blood and fire dripping from him like he'd crawled through hell and decided it wasn't hot enough.
Gilmuar: (calmly) You're not just broken.
Gilmuar: You're forgotten.
Jiryu twitched—gurgled something.
Then spat.
Jiryu: I... hate... you...
Gilmuar didn't flinch.
Gilmuar: Good.
Gilmuar raised his hand.
A sphere of white flame formed in his palm—laced with chaos, memory, and raw, unrefined destruction.
Gilmuar: Then let that be the last thing you feel.
The sphere hovered for one second—then sank into Jiryu's chest.
It didn't explode.
It devoured.
Jiryu screamed—violently, wretchedly, inhumanly—as the energy unraveled him. His skin peeled in layers. His blood boiled before it could escape. His bones shattered and reformed, over and over again, like they couldn't decide if they were allowed to die.
And through it all—
He screamed Sojo's name.
Jiryu: SOJOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—
The silence hung heavy after Jiryu's final scream. His body twitched once—blood soaked into the broken stone beneath him—but he didn't move again. The air was thick with steam, ash, and the scent of ruptured reality. Time itself bent slightly in the corner of the room, rippling where Gilmuar had stood.
Then...
The sound of footsteps.
Not rushing. Not cautious.
Just deliberate.
Dark walked forward.
Everyone else—Cron, Gilmuar, Tier, Leona—they had started moving away, the aftershocks of the battle still running through their bones. But Dark... stayed. His presence lingered, anchoring the moment in place like a shadow refusing to vanish.
He stepped toward Jiryu, boots crunching broken marble and ruptured veins of temporal stone. There was no pity in his eyes. No curiosity. Just... disdain. Pure, undiluted disrespect. Like he wasn't looking at a rival. But a failure.
He stopped beside Jiryu's battered body and leaned down slightly, eyes gleaming.
Dark: (quietly) I know this isn't how you die.
His voice was low, venomous.
Dark: Wait until they leave. Then we finish this.
Jiryu stirred—blood trailing from his mouth—but the corners of his lips curled upward.
Jiryu: (smirking) Kheekhee... very well.
Cron turned slightly, catching a glimpse of Dark's silhouette.
Cron: Dark... you comin'?
Dark didn't turn immediately. He just looked over his shoulder, a tiny smirk forming on his lips—barely there, but it carried weight.
Dark: You guys go home.
Dark: I'll catch up.
Cron met his eyes and immediately understood.
Cron: ...Alright. Don't die, dumbass.
Dark: Got it.
The scene faded—like a slow camera pan into dusk. The group disappeared into the wind, their footsteps fading into the earth's quiet hum. The sky above Bejiru cracked slightly, as if the battle had left scars in the clouds themselves.
And then—
The shot returned.
Same battlefield.
Same ruin.
But now?
Only two remained.
Dark.
And Jiryu.
Both fully healed.
As if the carnage had never happened.
They stood across from each other—two figures surrounded by broken pillars, shattered memory-engraved stone, and the echoes of gods who had watched in silence.
Jiryu cracked his neck, flexing fingers that glowed with unstable time distortion.
Jiryu: You're going to die here, human.
Dark didn't blink.
Dark: Shut up, insect.
Jiryu's eye twitched.
Jiryu: I... am not an insect.
Dark tilted his head slightly, as if studying a bug on a windshield.
Dark: Nah. You kinda are. I mean, the anatomy's almost there. You've got the advanced form of an ant. Maybe a praying mantis with attitude problems. Honestly, it's impressive you walk upright.
Jiryu: RRAAAGHHH!!
He snapped.
Vanished.
His dash was so fast it didn't blur—it tore the world. The very air cracked open. The screen glitched. The sky folded. His movement broke the verse.
He reappeared behind Dark, fist cocked, arm swinging—
But Dark turned before the sound even caught up.
He caught Jiryu's fist.
Twisted it.
Lifted him by the arm like a sack of bones.
And with zero hesitation—slammed him into the ground.
The island shattered.
Not cracked—shattered.
A seismic ripple shot outward like a supernova trapped in dirt. The ocean around the island split apart, walls of water rising into the sky like liquid gods. Mountains in the distance collapsed. Birds in nearby timelines screamed and vanished into dust.
The camera spiraled out.
Reality shook.
Jiryu's body cratered into the stone, blood coughing out of his mouth in thick bursts—raw, syrupy, black-red. His chest convulsed. Bones pierced through the sides of his ribs.
Jiryu: (thinking) The hell was that? When did he—? How...?
He twitched, struggling to lift his hand.
Time magic sparked in his fingers—runes spinning—
Then fizzled.
Gone.
Dark stood over him. No expression. Just presence.
Dark: Thought you were strong.
He extended a hand.
Not mocking.
Sincere.
Dark: I'll give you a second chance.
Dark: A chance to become something... more. Something chosen.
His voice lowered.
Dark: A chance to be honored.
Jiryu didn't respond.
He sat there in the shattered basin of the earth, chest heaving, arms trembling under his own weight. Blood dripped from his lips—thick, black, corrupted—but his breathing had steadied. His eyes flicked upward, locking onto Dark's.
Still no anger.
Still no judgment.
Just truth.
Dark: I already gave you your choices.
Dark: Now give me your answer.
He stepped closer—slowly, but without hesitation. Each movement carried that impossible weight again, the kind that came not from strength but from resolve that refused to break.
Dark: I'm not offering you redemption. That's your own battle.
Dark: What I offer... is direction.
Dark: Walk with me. Not as a shadow. Not as a mistake.
Dark: But as something worthy.
He extended his hand again—bloodstained, unshaking.
Dark: Serve me with your heart, your will, your loyalty—and become something eternal.
Dark: Or refuse.
Dark: And I'll turn you into what you were born to be.
Dark: Hollow.
The word crashed like a guillotine.
No embellishment. No drama.
Just finality.
Jiryu's eyes narrowed. He looked at the hand.
He saw his own reflection in the blood on Dark's palm.
Then he saw more.
He saw Kenzo, raging against entire nations.
He saw Gilmuar, rising through pain.
He saw Sojo... walking away.
He grit his teeth.
And reached out.
He took the hand.
No begging.
No speeches.
Just the hand of a fallen godchild... now gripped by the will of something far greater.
The shadows rose around him, but they didn't eat him—they accepted him. Wrapped him. Reforged him. The blood stopped dripping. The cracks in his body sealed. His form twisted—not corrupted, but solidified. Defined.
And in that moment, his soul whispered a new name.
Dark: You're not Jiryu anymore.
Dark: That name belongs to the failure Sojo abandoned.
Dark's eyes sharpened.
Dark: From now on... you're Biru.
The air didn't respond.
Biru: As you wish, my Emperor.
The shadows did.
Biru's body knelt—not as a servant.
But as a sword.
A force of hate now sharpened into focus.
Dark turned, letting the shadows consume Biru into the Summoning Veil. Not violently. Not dramatically. Quietly.
Like something sacred being stored for war.
Dark: That makes ten.
Dark: Ten Champions... and the rest can rot.
The world didn't answer.
But the clouds above stirred faintly, as if some ancient thread had just been clipped.
Dark turned, letting the black mist of Biru's transformation coil gently into the Summoning Veil. No explosion. No light show. Just a cold, precise shift—as if the universe now quietly accepted that one more monster had changed sides.
He exhaled slowly, brushing a bit of ash from his shoulder, when—
Bzzt.
A pulse hit his earpiece. The quiet ping of Tier's connection magic threading itself into range.
Tier: (voice tight, tech static pulsing) Dark. You there?
Dark: Yeah.
Tier: Good. I just patched this signal through twelve separate grids to get around the island's weird interference. You need to come home.
Dark: Now?
Tier: Yeah. Right now.
Dark's eyes narrowed slightly.
Dark: What's wrong?
Tier: Nothing's wrong.
Tier hesitated. In the background, faint sounds—Leona's voice, Cron laughing faintly, Gilmuar grumbling about something.
Tier: Everyone's waiting for you at the house. No drama. No alerts. Just... you've been gone a while.
Dark paused. His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes did.
Dark: I'll be there in three minutes.
Tier: We'll be ready.
The signal cut.
Dark stared forward into the nothingness for a second longer.
Then—
Step.
He vanished.
No veil. No glow. Just gone.
Like the world gave him permission to stop walking and be somewhere else.
Tier's Home – Tokyo, Japan
8:42 PM
The lights inside were warm again.
Dim. Comfortable.
A kettle hissed gently on the stove. The scent of something sweet baking in the oven filled the air.
Cron was half-asleep on the couch with a towel over his face. Gilmuar sat in the corner, arms crossed, looking vaguely irritated but definitely relaxed. Leona leaned against the balcony, watching the streetlights flicker.
And Tier?
Tier stood near the kitchen, fingers adjusting a dial on the old projector he'd rebuilt last week. The old machine hummed softly, casting a blue light against the wall, where it cycled through old photos—some of Dark, some of the group, some of them as kids.
Then—
Flick.
Dark appeared just outside the front gate.
Leona noticed first. She didn't say anything. Just turned, opened the door, and walked away to sit on the couch.
Dark walked in without a word.
Gilmuar: (without looking up) Took your damn time.
Cron: (muffled under the towel) He's got Champions now. Let him flex.
Tier: Sit your ass down. We saved your spot.
Dark glanced around.
The air was warm.
Unburdened.
And for the first time in a while...
...he felt it too.
Like he wasn't just building something.
He was protecting it.
He walked to the couch and sat between Leona and Tier.
Cron threw him a cold can of soda from the kitchen.
Dark caught it without looking.
Dark: I'm back.
No grand entrance. No aura. No pressure.
Just a boy on a couch, holding a can of soda, surrounded by people who made the world feel less cruel.
Tier flicked the projector off and tossed the remote onto the table. A faint static hum buzzed, then faded.
Tier: Welcome back, dumbass.
Leona: (softly) You didn't get hurt, right?
Dark: Hurt? Nah.
He cracked open the can, took a sip, and leaned back like the war-torn hellscape he just left didn't even touch his boots.
Cron: So. Ten Champions now, huh?
Dark: Yeah.
Gilmuar: Any of them not freakishly violent?
Dark: Nope.
Cron chuckled.
Cron: Just our luck.
There was a pause. Not awkward. Just real.
The kind of silence you don't mind sitting in when the people around you matter.
Leona: Did something happen?
Dark didn't answer right away. His eyes locked on a small crack in the ceiling.
Dark: I think I found one of Sojo's mistakes.
That changed the tone.
Tier: You're not talking about Gilmuar or Kenzo, right?
Dark: No. I'm talking about someone that never should've existed.
Cron: ...Did you kill him?
Dark: No.
He took another sip.
Dark: I made him loyal.
Gilmuar's eyes narrowed. The others didn't speak.
Dark: His name's Biru now.
Gilmuar: The cursed one?
Dark nodded once.
Gilmuar: (thinking) ...Tch.
Tier walked toward the table, picked up a holographic notepad, and started tapping quickly.
Tier: Should I update your Shadow Champion roster?
Dark: Already did it. Mentally.
Tier: Got it.
Cron: (grinning) So what now? More peace? Or—
Dark: We don't get peace. Not yet.
Dark stood up, placed the half-finished soda on the table, and walked toward the window.
Outside, Tokyo's lights blinked like stars that had learned how to settle.
Inside Tier's living room, the atmosphere was warm but subdued. Gilmuar sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping from a mug of green tea that had long since gone cold. Cron leaned against the window frame, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded but alert. Leona rested her chin on the couch's armrest, fingers fidgeting with the edge of a blanket. Tier was still adjusting settings on a floating monitor, half-muttering to himself about recalibrating his new prototype comms interface.
Dark stood by the window, watching the glow of Tokyo's skyline flicker against the horizon. He said nothing, his coat swaying slightly as if reacting to a wind only he could feel.
Tier: You ever gonna sit down?
Dark: ...Eventually.
Tier: (glancing over) That's what you always say.
Leona: (softly) He's thinking.
Gilmuar: About what?
Dark: Her.
Cron: Lara?
Dark nodded once.
Dark: She hasn't contacted us in weeks. Not since the rift closed.
Leona sat up straighter now.
Leona: You think something happened?
Dark: I don't think. I know.
Tier leaned back, hands clasped behind his head.
Tier: You wanna go to her universe, don't you?
Dark didn't answer. He just turned to face the others fully.
Dark: Pack light.
Tier: Oh come on—again?
Dark: Not for war. For a visit.
Gilmuar: (standing) Then let's make it a quick one.
Cron tapped the side of his watch, tearing a rift in space. It folded open like peeled silk, revealing a swirling corridor of stars and fractured timelines.
Cron: Gateway to Lara's universe. I synced it to her last energy signature. Might be off by a few miles though—time flows weird over there.
Dark: Doesn't matter.
He walked through first.
The light faded.
And what met them wasn't what they expected.
They arrived in the middle of a battlefield.
The sky was cracked open—ribbons of purple and gold tearing across it like bleeding galaxies. Colossal celestial beings floated in the air, wings made of constellation and breath like solar storms. The ground below was torn apart—craters, corpses, weapons shattered like glass.
And at the center of it all—
Lara.
She was kneeling, barely able to hold herself upright, one wing torn, the other scorched. Her armor—silver and white, once gleaming—was shredded. Her body was bleeding from more wounds than they could count. Her blade was snapped in half, and her aura flickered like a candle in a vacuum.
Dark saw her before anyone else.
He didn't speak.
He didn't shout.
He moved.
Faster than any light could catch.
The moment he reached her, Lara's body tilted. Her knees gave in. And he caught her.
Dark: Lara...
Her eyes fluttered open weakly.
Lara: (smiling faintly) You're late...
Dark: (voice breaking) I should've come sooner.
Lara: No... it's okay. You're here now.
She raised one trembling hand, brushing it against his cheek. Her fingers were cold. So cold.
Lara: I wanted to see you one last time...
Dark: Don't talk like that.
Lara: (choking back a sob) I fought, Dark... I fought so hard. For them. For the people here. For our dream...
Tears streamed from her eyes. But she smiled anyway. That same gentle smile she always wore, even in pain.
Lara: And I got to see you... that's enough.
Dark's eyes widened. His throat tightened. His grip around her tightened slightly, as if by holding her harder, he could delay what was coming.
Dark: No.
Lara: Dark...
Dark: No.
Lara's body trembled in his arms. Her lips parted to speak again, but the words didn't come. Only a single tear rolled down her cheek.
Then—
She exhaled.
Her eyes dimmed.
Her body went limp in his arms.
Dark sat there.
Frozen.
The others didn't speak.
They couldn't.
Gilmuar looked down, his jaw clenched. Leona turned away, hands over her mouth. Cron's fists trembled by his sides, veins bulging from his arms. Tier simply looked up at the sky, expression unreadable.
Dark lowered her gently to the ground.
He didn't speak.
Didn't cry.
Didn't scream.
He just placed her hand over her heart and brushed a lock of hair from her face.
Then he stood.
And turned to the others.
Dark: Stay here.
His voice wasn't angry.
It wasn't loud.
It was silent.
Too silent.
Cron stepped forward.
Cron: Dark—
Dark: Don't follow me.
He vanished.
Not with magic.
Not with speed.
He simply wasn't there anymore.
The air around where he stood remained still.
But something far, far away... broke.
To Be Continued...
End of Arc 5 Chapter 24