Teleportation magic ripped through me like a thousand needles, each one leaving a trail of fire in its wake. My body twisted, stretched, and compressed as reality warped around me. I'd been teleported before, but this was different.

  Not the precise, controlled magic of trained and careful mages, but a desperate, emergency measure.

  When I finally materialized, my knees hit the cobblestones of Merasca's central plaza with bruising force. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs, and I fell forward, barely catching myself on my palms. For a moment, the world spun wildly, my senses overwhelmed by the sudden transition.

  Then the screams registered.

  My head snapped up, vision clearing as adrenaline surged through my system. The plaza had transformed into a scene from the apocalypse genre games I’d played back in the before.

  Civilians fled in every direction, their faces masks of terror. Buildings creaked and groaned under the pressure of chaotic energy that pulsed from the center of the square. The air itself felt wrong. It was heavy and charged with something that made my skin crawl and my Demonic Core vibrate in resonance.

  A thunderous boom shook the ground, drawing my gaze to its source. My eyes trembled.

  I’d only read about him and seen him in pictures, but I didn’t fail to recognize him. He was considered something of a hero, standing at the very peak of the 8th Ascension. The Lightning Duke stood fifty meters away, his legendary blade locked against the bare hands of a crimson-robed figure whose face was marked with pulsating purple veins.

  The Duke's expression was a storm of fury as lightning arced from his body, shattering windows and scorching the ground, yet his opponent stood unflinching.

  "You think you can stop the inevitable?" the robed cultist taunted, his voice carrying an unnatural resonance. "Our Lord rises. This world ends. Such is the cycle. Notice how even your Twelve Lesser Gods don’t care to come and stop him?!"

  The word ‘lesser’ seemed to piss off the Duke. He was a religious man from what I read. "Your heresy ends today," the Duke growled, pushing harder against the cultist's block.

  But they were at a stalemate, two powerhouses locked in combat while the greater threat loomed behind them.

  My eyes tracked past their struggle to the true horror at the center of it all.

  Victor Seraph stood motionless, but it wasn't Victor anymore. His body was suspended slightly above the ground, shrouded in writhing violet energy that reminded me of the portals in Nevaramis. The Crown of Echoes sat atop his head, pulsing with sickly light as black veins spread across Victor's visible skin. His eyes were open but saw nothing of this world—just empty, glowing purple voids.

  Xohr'Veskhaa.

  The Outer God.

  "Shit," I breathed, pushing myself to my feet, my gaze darting around the plaza.

  The city's most powerful defenders had responded with impressive speed, but it wasn't enough. Since the Lightning is so far here, that means… I looked around, and my guess was correct. Amelia was here too.

  She was half-transformed into her golden dragon form and caught in a battle against three 7th Ascension cultists simultaneously. Her claws tore through one's chest, but another immediately took his place as the fallen cultist's body dissolved into purple mist that flowed back toward Victor.

  The Salt Duke, a man I recognized from political gatherings, cowered behind a barrier maintained by several Guild Masters. Their combined magic barely held against the assault of two high-level cultists who hurled corrupted energy at the shield.

  From the looks of it, the Salt Duke seemed to be retreating backward into his castle. That place must be built with powerful defensive wards. That information might come in handy later.

  Members of the New Hero Assembly, along with other famous adventurers and mercenaries, had already formed an impromptu defensive line, trying to evacuate civilians while fending off lesser cultists.

  The Church of Light's priests stood in a circle with members of the Church of the Dance, hands raised as they erected barriers of holy light across strategic points of the city. At their center stood an old woman with eyes so purple that one might mistake her for the Outer God.

  [Taletha, Level 149]

  It made sense why her eyes were purple. She must be with the Church of the Dance, a follower of Shivaron, the God of Destruction. She reminded me somewhat of the Archbishop from Waybound, Luminarch, although that man must be much more influential and powerful than her. He was an 8th Ascension, the voice of Luminas, the God of Light and Virtue, after all.

  In short, our defence line wasn’t bad.

  But for every defender, there seemed to be two cultists, materializing from shadows or rising from the very stones of the plaza—all of them bearing the same pulsating purple veins and fanatical expressions.

  There also seemed to be a [Necromancer] among them, but he wasn’t near me; I could only sense him through the Demonic Sphere.

  The tactical problem here was immediately clear: all of Merasca's powerhouses were occupied, locked in combat with opponents who seemed willing, even eager, to die as long as they bought time.

  Time for what?

  I focused on Victor—no, Xohr'Veskhaa—again.

  Despite the chaos surrounding him, he remained almost statue-like, only occasionally twitching or jerking as if fighting some internal battle. He’d moved earlier, even spoke, but now he seemed a little out of it. The energy around him pulsed erratically, sometimes expanding, sometimes contracting.

  "He's not stable," I realized aloud. "The possession isn't complete."

  That explained why the cultists fought so desperately to keep everyone away. They weren't just serving their god; they were protecting him during his most vulnerable moment. Once fully manifested, an Outer God wouldn't need protection—it would unleash devastation beyond anything these defenders could handle.

  I needed to act now, while Xohr'Veskhaa was still vulnerable. But even in this state, approaching him would be suicide. I needed power—more than I currently possessed.

  A familiar voice cut through the chaos.

  "Young master!"

  Lilian sprinted toward me, dodging debris and panicked civilians. Behind her, I spotted Solara and Nebula fighting back-to-back against a group of lower-level cultists. Solara's phoenix wings blazed fully exposed now, necessity outweighing secrecy. At the very least, they were magically painted black as we’d prepared before. People might think of her as a raven-human, or something similar, rather than immediately reaching the true conclusion.

  Nearby, Nebula's blood magic formed crimson chains that bound and crushed their opponents. They quickly approached me together.

  "Are you hurt?" Lilian demanded, reaching me with inhuman speed, her red eyes scanning me for injuries.

  "I'm fine," I assured her, though 'fine' felt laughably inadequate for our current situation. "Where did you materialize?"

  "The east side of the plaza. We found each other quickly." She glanced over her shoulder at the swirling chaos. "It's bad, isn't it? That's not Victor anymore."

  "No, it's much worse." I gripped her shoulder, steadying myself as much as her. "I need to level up. Fast. When I get my Ascension Quest and complete it, maybe I can access enough power to make a difference."

  Reaching Level 75, 6th Ascension, might allow me benefits I didn’t have right now. I already had some plans, such as perhaps [Event Horizon]. I had the theory down.

  Lilian's eyes widened. "You're going to fight cultists? Now?"

  "Do you see anyone else free to take on their god?" I gestured at the embattled defenders. "Everyone who could actually stop this is tied up with the cultists."

  A scream pierced the air, drawing our attention to a nearby alley. A dark elf, whom I immediately recognized as Selthira, was backed against a wall, her daggers raised defensively as a towering cultist approached her.

  Despite her assassin training, she moved with a limp, blood streaming from a gash in her thigh. The cultist, a bald man with ritual scars covering his scalp, laughed as he conjured a sphere of corrupted energy between his palms.

  [Nazzur Vaelith, Level 113]

  "7th Ascension," I muttered, tracking the cultist's power level. "Perfect. Stay here."

  Without waiting for Lilian's response, I charged forward, pulling Stellar Qi into my legs to enhance my speed. The distance closed in heartbeats. The cultist sensed my approach at the last second, beginning to turn. But it was too late.

  [True Demon Fist Art, Third Form: The Relentless Thunder of the Titan Ape]

  I drove my fist, wrapped in a swirl of Destruction Qi, into the cultist's spine. Bones shattered beneath my knuckles. The impact sent him flying past Selthira, into the wall. Bricks cracked and mortar dust rained down as his body embedded itself in the stonework.

  Selthira stared at me, recognition flickering in her eyes despite my mask. "You—"

  "Run," I cut her off, already refocusing on the cultist who was, incredibly, pulling himself out of the wall. "Now."

  She hesitated, pride battling survival instinct, before nodding curtly and limping away. She didn’t have her true strength; her Levels were still with her teammates, so she couldn’t give her all here.

  The cultist straightened, bones audibly snapping back into place as corrupted energy knitted his wounds. "The masked one…" he growled, purple light leaking from his mouth. "You interrupted the Awakening once already, didn’t you? Not again."

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  How does he know? As a 7th Ascension, he wasn’t there. So how did he–

  My thoughts were cut off when he moved with shocking speed for someone so massive, crossing the distance between us in a blur. His fist, wreathed in chaotic energy, aimed for my head. I sidestepped, feeling the air distort as his punch missed by millimeters.

  "You're in his way," the cultist hissed, following with a barrage of strikes that forced me back. "Our Lord rises. This world falls. The cycle continues."

  I weaved between his attacks, analyzing his patterns. "Your 'lord' looks pretty pathetic to me," I taunted. "Can't even stand on his own while his followers do all the dirty work."

  Rage twisted the cultist's face. "Blasphemy!"

  He overextended on his next strike—exactly what I'd been provoking. I ducked under his arm and drove my elbow into his ribs, channeling Destruction Qi to amplify the impact. Something cracked beneath my blow, but he barely flinched.

  This wouldn't be easy. I could defeat him, that was certain, but it wasn’t going as fast as I’d prefer it to. I needed more.

  I jumped back and stared at him, while my left hand gently removed the gloves from my right. My [Phantom Hand] clenched and unclenched once. Then, it vanished.

  I raised my severed elbow toward the cultist, who blinked, frowned, and rushed ahead, adamant in stopping me from whatever I was trying. He was a moment too late.

  Beam of Destruction.

  My elbow lit up under the flappy sleeves, and energy tore through it. Darkness rushed ahead, slamming violently into the cultist's chest. The cultist howled—but not for long. Where the Destruction Qi met, his corrupted energy sputtered and failed to heal him.

  "Heretic! Blasphemer!" he spat, purple blood dribbling from his lips. Despite his injuries, he tried to push ahead with increasing ferocity.

  The desperation of a cornered zealot.

  I’d last used this on Vrakrith, the Troll, who’d figured out the way to block this by coating his body with mana. This fool was yet to do that. He was slower than a troll.

  I pressed the advantage, knowing that prolonging this fight would only give the Outer God more time to stabilize.

  An ethereal blade then manifested from my free hand and shot forward, striking at the cultist's astral form rather than his physical body. Astral Rend. I followed by applying Soul Sever on it.

  He staggered, his connection to his power source momentarily disrupted.

  In that instant of weakness, I poured twice the Qi into my Destruction Beam. I aimed it at his head this time. The energy pulsed, drinking in the corrupted energy that tried to heal him. It ran out too quickly, since I had severed his connection momentarily. The cultist's eyes widened in shock, then fury, then—strangely—acceptance.

  "It... matters not," he gurgled through the beam that continued to slam into his melting head, blood bubbling between his lips. "I am... but one vessel. He is... eternal."

  His head exploded, and his body went limp, collapsing to the cobblestones. I turned off the beam and stepped back, watching as his form began to dissolve into that same purple mist I'd seen earlier, feeding back into the swirling energy around Victor.

  Well, that’s not good if killing them would only empower him.

  A familiar blue window appeared before my eyes.

  [You’ve leveled up!]

  [You’ve reached Level 74!]

  [You've processed and learned a technique from the True Demon God Art.]

  [6th Ascension Quest Available!]

  [Ascension Quest: Banish the Outer God Xohr'Veskhaa from the Mortal Plane!]

  I stared at the text floating before me, silent at first until a bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Of course. It couldn't be simple, could it?"

  Reaching the 6th Ascension required completing this quest—but completing this quest would require power I could only access after ascending. A perfect, impossible paradox.

  Goddammit.

  ****

  "Iskandaar!"

  Nebula's voice cut through my frustration. She and Solara had finished off their opponents and joined Lilian, the three of them rushing to my side.

  "I leveled up," I said, gesturing to the floating text only I could see. "But my Ascension Quest is to defeat the very thing I need the Ascension to handle."

  "Shit," Solara muttered, her wings folding protectively around our group as another explosion rocked the plaza. "What now?"

  Nebula's shrewd eyes assessed the situation. "We need to retreat, regroup. The Church of Light can contain this area temporarily while we search for Mother and—"

  "There's no time," Lilian interrupted, pointing toward the center of the plaza. "Look."

  The energy surrounding Victor had begun to stabilize, the erratic pulses settling into a more rhythmic pattern. His feet, previously hovering inches above the ground, now touched the cobblestones. His fingers twitched, then flexed, as if testing their functionality.

  "He's adapting to the vessel," I said quietly. "Once he gains full control..."

  I didn't need to finish the thought. We all knew what it meant.

  He’d not be a true God-level threat since he was still using a mortal body, but still. He might be as dangerous as an Arcane Crown…? I couldn’t be certain.

  Around us, the battle continued to rage. Amelia had fully transformed now, her dragon form a beacon of golden light as she tore through cultists, but for each one she killed, another stepped forward. The Lightning Duke had finally dispatched the Red Witness, only to find himself immediately engaged by two more high-level cultists.

  The Church's defenses were also beginning to crack under the assault.

  No one was free to confront Xohr'Veskhaa directly.

  No one but me.

  I looked at the three women who had somehow become the center of my existence in this world. People who were really special. I was ready to risk it all when trying to save some random civilians in Lockdarn, why wouldn’t I do it now, when my loved ones were in danger?

  Lilian's fierce gaze, Solara's burning ones, and Nebula's cool blue diamonds—each of them returned my gaze, understanding dawning in their eyes.

  "Don't you dare, Iskandaar," Nebula said, her voice tight. "Last time—"

  "I have to try," I cut her off gently. "The System itself is telling me this is my responsibility." Somehow, it’d pushed me to take action too many times by now.

  "It's suicide," Solara argued, grabbing my arm. "You can't fight an Outer God!"

  "Yes, but I don't plan to fight him with my current strength." I reached into my Soul Storage, fingers closing around the smooth, obsidian surface of the Cooldown Reset Stone Lilian had found. It pulsed warmly against my palm as I withdrew it. "I have an ace."

  Understanding dawned in Lilian's eyes. "The Temporal Overdraft," she breathed.

  I held up the stone as the girls stared at it. "This can reset the cooldown,” I said. Although technically it can only do it once, as then the stone itself would go into a cooldown period of three months by absorbing it from the skill’s cooldown. “Thank you, Lilian."

  Nebula gently touched my shoulder while Solara’s lips pressed thin, her eyes cloudy. I wonder what she thought, thinking back to the Crippled Heaven. I glanced at the center of the plaza, where Xohr'Veskhaa had begun to move Victor's head, scanning the chaos around him with those blazing yet empty purple eyes. The sight sent a chill down my spine.

  "What if it fails?" Nebula asked, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.

  "Well… I don't have a choice," I said quietly. "I don’t have an answer for that."

  Lilian's hand closed around mine, her grip painfully tight. "Don't talk like that. You'll survive. You always do."

  A sad smile touched my lips. "I try."

  Solara stepped closer, her wings creating a momentary shield against the chaos. "If it works, what's your plan?"

  "Ideally, destroy his soul. But at least, send him back where he came from," I replied, studying the stone in my palm. "If I can draw enough power, I might be able to do it."

  ‘Might’ was a hopeless word in this situation, where our bodies trembled just from the presence of the entity. A heavy silence fell between us, broken only by the sounds of battle raging around our small bubble of calm.

  Together, we navigated through the battlefield, avoiding the worst of the fighting. When I used Temporal Overdraft against the Vampiric Father, I’d performed only one strike and vanished. I got “lucky” with the Crippled Heaven so he controlled my body and earned me the victory. However, it was better to assume that I could only perform one attack using the skill. So it was best to get close to the enemy.

  Solara's wings gave us a momentary advantage, allowing her to scout ahead and warn of cultists in our path. Nebula's blood magic created diversions when needed, while Lilian's raw strength cleared obstacles from our path.

  We reached a partially collapsed building about fifty meters from where Xohr'Veskhaa stood. Close enough for me to reach him quickly if the Temporal Overdraft worked, far enough to give the girls a chance to escape if it didn't.

  "This is it," I said, taking a deep breath as I pulled the Cooldown Reset Stone from my Soul Storage once more. "Last chance to talk me out of this."

  "Would it work?" Solara asked, a hint of her old sarcasm breaking through the tension.

  I chuckled despite myself and did not answer. Nebula grumbled and touched my arm, her eyes holding mine. "Just... come back."

  Lilian stepped forward, pressing her hand against mine. She didn’t say anything.

  With one last look at them, I stepped into the open, the Cooldown Reset Stone held tightly in my palm. It did say I have to press it against the body, right? I recalled the descriptions and jammed the obsidian shard against my sternum; heat flared…

  I poured my intent into it, visualizing the skill I needed to unlock.

  [True Demon God Art: The Temporal Overdraft]

  The stone began to glow, its obsidian surface warming rapidly until it felt like a burning coal against my skin. I didn't flinch, focusing entirely on the connection forming between the stone and my locked skill.

  "Reset," I commanded, although I wasn’t sure if that was needed.

  The stone pulsed once, brilliantly, then dimmed a moment later, and I deposited it in my Soul Storage. In that exact moment, I felt the lock on Temporal Overdraft shatter—the skill was available once more.

  I didn't waste a second, “Outer God!” I called, making him turn to me. Immediately, I channeled my energy into activating my trump card.

  [True Demon God Art: The Temporal Overdraft!]

  The world seemed to slow around me as I reached across the barriers of time, searching for that connection to my future self that had saved me during Lockdarn, during the Winter Festival. Searching for any other possible futures alongside it. I pushed harder, straining to feel that familiar rush of borrowed power.

  Ultimately, it landed somewhere in the cosmos.

  I felt the presence of a different version of me.

  Yet, I felt... nothing from him.

  The connection vanished.

  The situation was so confusing that I froze. There was no power. No future self reaching back. Just an empty void where possibility should have been. Only the system notifications explained the scenario to me.

  [You've landed on a timeline 27 years into the future...!]

  [You've landed on a timeline where you've died.]

  [You've gained no power.]

  SHIT.

  The connection I'd found led to a dead end—literally. A future where Iskandaar Romani had ceased to exist or died so unremarkably that no power remained to draw upon.

  The skill collapsed, leaving me gasping and staggering backward. My body suddenly weakened from the drawbacks of the skill, even though I didn’t gain any power. The Cooldown Reset Stone was unusable, expended on a connection that led nowhere.

  From the center of the plaza, I heard a sound that froze my blood—laughter. Not Victor's aristocratic chuckle, but something alien and terrible, a sound that shouldn't be possible from a human throat. Purple eyes were locked on me.

  Xohr'Veskhaa had gained full control of his vessel.

  “You called me and went silent,” he said as his body rose from the ground, hovering several meters in the air as violet energy coalesced around his outstretched hands. His face, still recognizable as Victor's, wore an expression of such alien malice that it barely seemed human. “If you want to die so bad, Cheonma, you’ve come to the right place.”

  With a casual wave of his hand, a building ripped off the ground and slammed into me, punching the air out of my lungs, almost making my eyes pop out, and sending me far into the city along with the building. With another wave of his hand – something that I didn’t see with the building blocking my view, but felt thanks to my Demonic Sphere – two distant towers shuddered, then collapsed in clouds of dust and screams.

  A thousand lives extinguished in an instant.

  "THIS WORLD," the voice that emerged was Victor's, but layered with something older and far more terrible, "IS MINE TO UNMAKE."

  The building continued taking me through the air, and finally landed by slamming into another, sandwiching me between them as I spat out blood. I remained stuck there, groaning in pain, and yet the weight of my failure crushed me more thoroughly than the physical blow.

  The stone was gone. The skill had failed. My trump card, the one power that might have made a difference, had connected to a future where I didn't exist.

  And now I was crushed beneath buildings, helpless, as the end began.

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