[Oliver’s POV]

  This is my opening!

  The rapier tilted upward as Alan’s balance faltered, his body twisting mid-fall. Oliver surged forward, his arm darkened by the Energy imbued in it.

  Alan tried to recover, his instincts kicking in. He forced the blade to shift direction, aiming to intercept the incoming strike. But the combination of surprise and Oliver’s sheer speed left him a fraction too slow.

  The tip of the rapier sliced past Oliver’s arm. It was close enough to graze the fabric, close enough for him to feel the heat of the weapon’s gravitational distortion, but not close enough to stop him.

  Then came the first impact.

  Oliver’s fist connected squarely with Alan’s face. The sound was sharp, wet, final. He felt the cartilage give beneath his knuckles, heard the faint crack of bone. Alan’s head snapped back, blood misting the air.

  The sensation jarred Oliver. For an instant, guilt flickered through him.

  He pulled his next punch, but momentum carried him forward, and restraint was no longer an option.

  The second blow struck Alan’s jaw, snapping his head to the side. The third landed across his cheek, the fourth hammered into his ribs. Each hit was deliberate, precise enough to end the fight, not to kill.

  Alan’s rapier flickered weakly, the black Energy along its edge destabilizing. The blade grazed Oliver’s shoulder, but the gravitational weight it carried was gone.

  Alan’s body hit the ground with a heavy thud, the impact echoing through the chamber. He lay on his back, blood streaming from his nose, his chest rising and falling slowly.

  Oliver froze, his chest heaving. The dark glow around his arms faded as he forced himself to steady his breathing. He looked down at Alan, his friend, and fought to keep his expression neutral.

  He couldn’t show concern. Not here. Not in front of the others.

  “We have a winner.”

  The voice rolled across the chamber like thunder.

  Oliver turned toward the throne. The being seated there smiled faintly, his voice calm, almost pleased.

  He heard footsteps before he saw them. Katherine, who had stood apart from the fight, was now sprinting forward, her boots striking the stone. Her eyes were locked on Alan.

  Adrian moved as well, his stride calm, heading toward Demi’s unconscious body.

  But something was wrong.

  At first, it was subtle.

  Each step Katherine took seemed to drag, her movements stretching, like a recording played at half-speed. Adrian’s stride slowed too, his arm frozen mid-reach. The sound of their footsteps faded, drawn out into an endless echo.

  Then they stopped.

  Everything stopped.

  The air itself seemed to be still. Dust hung in place like stars suspended in orbit.

  But Oliver could still move. His breath came sharp and fast in the silence. The realization sent a chill down his spine.

  “Even for us, time is something unreachable,” a voice said, calm but resonant, cutting through the frozen air. “But not impossible to adjust.”

  Oliver turned sharply toward the throne.

  The Sovereign watched him, his dark eyes steady. The faint smile that had once curled his lips was gone. Now there was only weariness, an exhaustion that went beyond flesh and bone.

  “You can do this?” Oliver asked, his tone cautious, wary. “All of you can manipulate time like this?”

  The being shook his head slowly, the motion almost human. “No. Not all. This, unfortunately, is a trick that belongs only to me.”

  Oliver’s throat tightened. He took a step forward, then another, moving away from the others until he stood before the throne.

  The Sovereign’s body looked frail now. The proud posture he had once held was slumped, his bronze skin pale and glistening with sweat. His breathing came shallow, uneven, each inhale a struggle. The faint shimmer of Energy that had once filled the chamber had dimmed, reduced to a flicker.

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  “As my champion,” the Sovereign said, his voice breaking between breaths, “you now have the privilege of freeing yourself from me.”

  Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “Breaking the seal. I saw what you did a long time ago. But all of this, your freedom, it’s consuming what’s left of you, isn’t it?”

  The Sovereign’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile. “Freedom always demands a price.”

  Oliver could feel it now, the immense Energy bleeding from the being. It wasn’t infinite. It was leaking away, pouring out like blood from an open wound. The power that had once seemed eternal was devouring its own source.

  “What good is being the embodiment of chaos,” the Sovereign rasped, his voice hoarse, “if I must live by rules?”

  He coughed violently, dark blood splattering across the stone floor. The sound was wet and ragged.

  “Rules?” Oliver asked, his brow furrowing. “Didn’t you enforce rules on your competition?”

  The Sovereign’s cracked lips curved faintly, the shadow of a smile. “Oh, I did. Everything has rules, even chaos.”

  His voice was low, rasping, yet it carried with an unshakable weight. “The universe itself is built on limitations, laws of matter, of time, of existence. Chaos is not the absence of rules, but the understanding of which rules must be broken. Chaos is a single grain of sand caught by the wind that triggers the collapse of an empire. Chaos is what mortals fail to comprehend because they cannot see the full design. It is the inexorable entropy that draws all things to their end.”

  The words hung in the still air, vibrating with a strange resonance that made the particles of dust tremble.

  Oliver listened, his expression tightening. The explanation didn’t answer his questions; it only deepened them. 'Who was this being? Why had he been imprisoned here? Why orchestrate all of this, the trials, the battles, the manipulation of time, to die?'

  “I think it’s fair,” Oliver said finally, his tone steady but probing, “that I at least know who I’m about to kill.”

  The Sovereign let out a breath that might have been a laugh, though it sounded more like a cough. “No chance. I’m not playing that game. Leave the names to those who still have the energy to care.”

  He leaned back against the cracked stone of his throne, his movements slow and deliberate. “I’ve lived millennia upon millennia. I’ve watched empires rise and fall, watched stars ignite and die. I’ve worn too many names, and I’ve forgotten most of them. None of them matter anymore.”

  His eyes, dark, ancient, and impossibly deep, met Oliver’s. “You’re here for one purpose, boy. To end me. That’s all.”

  Oliver held his gaze, unflinching. “You speak as if that’s already decided. But I didn’t come here to play executioner. I came for what I need.”

  The Sovereign’s smile returned, faint but knowing. “And you’ll have it, after you’ve done your part.”

  Oliver’s jaw tightened. “And how can I be sure I’ll receive it once you’re dead?”

  “You have two of my kind guiding you, and they still haven’t explained how one obtains a Crystal?”

  The Sovereign’s tone was sharp, neither mocking nor cruel, but heavy with disappointment. The question hit Oliver harder than he expected. For a moment, he felt foolish, like a child being scolded for not knowing something obvious.

  It had been a long time since he was that boy, the one who had awakened a century out of his own time, stumbling through a universe that had moved on without him. It had been even longer since someone had managed to make him feel ignorant. These days, only beings like this, true gods, or what passed for them, still could.

  He exhaled, forcing the irritation down. “Will I see you at the Palace?” he asked, choosing to sidestep the question.

  The Sovereign chuckled softly, the sound brittle, hollow. “No. For me, this is the end. A real one.”

  He looked down at his own trembling hands, the faint glow of his Energy flickering along his skin. “I’ve no interest in surviving on scraps, living off the pity of children like you, showing me a universe I no longer belong to.”

  Oliver frowned, confusion flickering across his face. “But… can’t you return? Restore yourself? I thought that’s what your kind did. Athena, Cernunnos, they’re trying to—”

  The Sovereign’s laugh cut him off. “There’s always a way. There’s always a loophole. But compared to me, your mentors are infants still playing their little games. They still crave relevance. They still think they can cheat the end.”

  He sighed, his voice growing quieter, heavier. “I am tired of this game.”

  With a groan, he pushed himself up from the throne.

  Oliver tensed. Even weakened, the Sovereign’s presence was overwhelming. The sheer density of Energy radiating from him made the air vibrate. It was suffocating. Unfiltered power that dwarfed even the might of the King-class dragon they had faced before.

  The Sovereign took a few slow steps forward. His eyes burned with a dim, fading light.

  “Boy,” he said, his tone not unkind. “I know the path you’ll walk. Let me tell you this. You’re still far from the end. What you’ll receive today is only the first piece. You’ll need more. Your mentors don’t see it yet, but you’ll have to find a way to bind your opponent.”

  He stopped just a few paces away. “Remember that. Think on it.”

  Then he smiled, a weary, knowing expression that carried centuries of pain and acceptance.

  “Now it’s my time. Chaos and Entropy come for even their own.”

  Oliver’s throat tightened. The very idea of killing a god, of ending something like this, felt impossible. “What do I do?” he asked.

  The Sovereign’s answer was simple.

  “Give me your best shot.”