They moved like shadows on shattered glass—Arth and Ouroboros, two versions of the same man, locked in a battle that cracked the very laws of existence.
Each clash of their blades fractured time. Each strike echoed across realities.
The skyline around them shimmered—skyscrapers melting into ruins, rewinding, then rebuilding themselves in alternate forms. Reality itself was having a seizure, pulled taut between two competing anchors.
Arth panted, blood dripping from his brow. His body trembled—not from pain, but from the overwhelming strain of fighting someone who knew his every move, every pattern, every weakness.
Ouroboros looked pristine in contrast—calm, fluid, calculating. His blade crackled with magenta energy, humming with the weight of stolen timelines.
“You’re slowing,” he said, sidestepping another desperate swing. “Your reactions—predictable. Your rage—useful, but wasteful.”
Arth grit his teeth and lunged again, forcing Ouroboros into a parry—but the counter came faster than light.
CRACK!
A knee to his gut. Elbow to his spine. Blade to his shoulder.
Arth fell to one knee, gasping.
“You’re the current Arth,” Ouroboros said softly. “The ‘true’ one in this cycle. The one fate has decided belongs here. That’s why this hurts.”
He raised a hand. Violet static arced from his fingers, weaving into intricate, ancient symbols that hovered in the air.
“I don’t belong anymore,” Ouroboros continued. “The multiverse is rejecting me. My body is unraveling—thread by thread.”
Arth looked up, dazed. “Then… why are you still standing?”
Ouroboros smiled—bitter and triumphant.
“Because I found a solution. You.”
Arth’s eyes widened.
“You're still connected to the core timeline. You're still accepted by the cosmic weave. So I did what I do best, Arth. I took.”
He extended his hand.
And reality shuddered.
Arth screamed as his chest ignited with violet fire. Threads of energy—tainted, corrupted, unstable—lashed from Ouroboros’s arm into Arth’s body, stitching something wrong into his very essence.
The Time Stream wailed around them.
“You feel that?” Ouroboros whispered. “That’s the unraveling. My entropy. My exile. Transferred to you.”
Arth clawed at the air as the threads wrapped around his limbs, constricting.
“I’ve spent lifetimes building this,” Ouroboros said, kneeling beside him. “Breaking causality. Splitting timelines. Becoming everything I could never be. And you? You just showed up, like fate owed you something.”
Arth coughed, blood and light pouring from his mouth. His skin flickered between versions—child, teen, soldier, officer—memories spooling outward, being ripped away.
“You won’t hold it,” Arth rasped. “You can’t.”
Ouroboros stood. “I don’t need to hold it. I just need to outlast you.”
He turned as Arth writhed, the unraveling infecting his timeline, the very strands of his existence fraying like worn rope.
“You’ll die forgotten,” Ouroboros said, raising his blade again. “And I’ll walk away whole.”
Then—A crackle of unstable energy.
Arth, still kneeling, looked up—eyes filled not with fear… but resolve.
“You made a mistake,” he growled.
“Oh?”
“I’m still me. I still remember why I fight.”
He slammed a hand to the ground. With the last of his strength, he forced a lockdown rune—something Ji-yoo had taught him—into the space between them.
The unraveling paused. The spell didn’t cure it—but it delayed it.
Just enough.
Arth surged forward, blade igniting with desperate light.
Ouroboros spun to block—but the hit landed.
SLASH!
A gash opened across his side—deep and real. He staggered.
“You’re not untouchable,” Arth said through gritted teeth. “And you never were.”
But before he could press the advantage—his knees buckled.
The unraveling roared back to life, his veins glowing violet, memories slipping through his fingers like sand.
Ouroboros clutched his side and grinned.
“You can fight the unraveling all you want,” he hissed. “But it’s yours now. Welcome to my curse.”
Chapter 23: The Ultimate Showdown Part 2 End
Please log in to leave a comment.