He pointed it directly at Chronos.
"Then prove it... with facts."
Eye locked eye, and in this dimension, time meant everything. The screens displayed realities from different timelines. In the upper-left screen, he saw her—Elara.
His lips curved into a smile. She was in his residential home with his parents all seated around the table, protecting them. That was her way of helping.
His promise to her earlier that day replayed in his mind. Then, with calm resolve, he looked at the shinigami-like god.
"Shall we begin?"
"Time is breath... and yet you hasten to lose it," Chronos smirked.
"You might bear the name 'Time Lord,' but let's see who's really in control," Dravok said, pouring more mana into his magical blade.
"As you wish," Chronos responded.
He held the Time Blade with both hands and twisted it counterclockwise with the precision of a wall clock. It spun like multiple blades in a blur, dimming the surroundings.
The dimension reversed—centuries flew by in seconds. Winters passed with snow lingering in the air, replaced by arid summers. Then the blade stopped, pointing straight upward, while sacred sand in the hourglass hilt poured into its upper bulb.
Not only had the atmosphere been taken back, but Dravok's magical blade had returned to a point in time where it didn't exist.
"That weapon doesn't match my glory," Chronos rumbled. His voice echoed like ticking seconds.
"Then I'll just make a new one that defies your rules. Snap Bag," Dravok declared.
Snapping his fingers, a brown pouch appeared midair like a floating night fairy. He plunged his left arm inside, though it looked far too small—but it was more like the gate of a mystical wardrobe. He searched deep until he found it.
He pulled out a ring and held it to his face like a relic that held destiny.
"Time applies to mortals, not to the immortal," Dravok smirked, crookedly.
He pricked the cushion-set diamond ring with his finger as though it were made of bread. White wisps of soul flowed outward, stretching like elastic webs. Dravok molded the soul into a blade, infused it with his dark purple mana.
"I'll be borrowing your soul, Allen," he whispered under his breath.
This battle wasn't just a spar. It was a struggle for control.
"I expected nothing less from a true Demon King," Chronos muttered.
Then, he rotated his Time Blade tip-down in a clockwise arc. "I'll end this before the hourglass runs out."
Dravok stared at the hourglass—the sand falling slowly. He smiled, almost mockingly.
"Then I'll end it before that."
In a flash—no, in a change of time—they met, blade to blade. But Dravok noticed something odd: Chronos always kept his blade low, never raising it high.
'The blade has rules,' he thought. 'I'll use those rules against him.'
He struck high with his next swing, but the god reacted evenly. The Time Blade bent upside down, and sacred sand flowed back up into the upper bulb through the hourglass's narrow neck.
Time reversed.
Their blades did not meet. Dravok was sent back to his original position, his blade cutting through empty air.
"We might be even in speed," Chronos boasted, returning his blade to face the ground, "but not in ability."
"Then I'll defile you," Dravok said with a cold grin.
"What makes you think you can defile time?" Chronos spat.
"Time follows a pattern: past, present, and future," Dravok declared with commanding clarity. Chaotic mana surged from him—disoriented and raw. "But chaos doesn't."
His position shifted—not like he moved, but as though the atmosphere itself did. He slashed dozens of times per second. Blades collided, sending shockwaves through the dimension.
"You're gambling," Chronos muttered, his blade fast-forwarding and backstepping time as he deflected the impossible angles of attack. He took damage at first, but within mere seconds, he adapted to the Time Blade's pattern.
"No. I'm reading time."
Dravok's left arm caught Chronos's shoulder and hurled him away with all his might. But with a simple twist of his blade, the god returned.
Dravok didn't hesitate. He dashed again, keeping the chaotic tempo flowing. Still, he waited for an opportunity. Then, the god did something different—he didn't reverse or fast-forward time.
He paused it.
His blade held horizontally. The divine sand in the hourglass lay still.
Everything stopped. The screens. The wind. Even the void.
But Dravok—was gone.
No. Erased. Not even time could trace him. He had teleported out of its reach.
Chronos flinched.
His hollow eyes darkened.
Dravok's presence had vanished completely.
Then a tear ripped open behind him. Dravok's blade struck from the rear with such unseen speed that Chronos barely had time to react. The slash cut through his back like a crack splitting a stone wall.
Dravok's voice echoed in the still void like a god declaring judgment over his realm.
"Time is a revolving circle crafted by the art of space… but what will you do when your target lies beyond it?"
Another deep, blinding slash tore across Chronos's legs. He fell to his knees. No blood—just broken limbs.
"The sun. The moon. The space—they never began… and so they can never end. So, Chronos, who's in control now?"
A knowing smile crept onto Chronos's face. He didn't tremble. He didn't resist.
He looked up like he had long accepted this moment.
"Time can reveal... but it cannot change meaning, Dravok," he whispered with painful joy. "Even without prophecy, I foresaw this day long ago. It was inevitable."
His hollow eyes lacked the ability to cry, but raw emotion still lingered in the air. He rested the Time Blade horizontally on his palm as if offering it like an ancestral heirloom.
A portal of darkness opened before him.
Dravok stepped through with ominous grace, towering like a god confronting his own creation.
Chronos extended the Time Blade willingly—but not without a final warning.
"Time defines what destiny will be. The way you wield this blade will determine what tomorrow becomes."
Dravok accepted the blade from his hand. His mana synced with it in one sharp swing through the air. Then, he turned and began walking away—back to his world.
"One last thing, Dravok!" Chronos called out.
His voice bore the weight of a terrible future, but he only revealed a single truth, careful not to alter the timeline too drastically.
"Elara will die."
Dravok turned his head, looking at Chronos with one eye over his shoulder. He didn't shake. He didn't flinch.
He was calm—like he believed destiny was his to write.
"That's not yours to determine."
With that, he walked into the portal of darkness like a man who got what he came for. Confident and proud.
Chronos whispered into the void.
"Good luck... Lord Dravok."
---
Elsewhere...
Dagon, the second elder demon, walked into the throne hall.
The room was dark, filled with the crumbling chuckles of the five elder demons seated on their thrones. His boots echoed like cries of finality across the obsidian floor. His eyes were pale, cold—filled with resolve.
All gazes shifted toward him, responding to the sound of his steps.
"Come, join us and celebrate victory ahead, brother," Garad Azrema smirked, gesturing toward the empty throne beside him.
"About that..." Dagon murmured, then raised his head with confidence. "I'm on Dravok's side now."
The room froze.
Then, they all stood like lions summoned to war.
"What did you just say...?" Garad roared, fury bubbling beneath his skin.
"Did I hear you right?" Baalor Kynareth, the third elder, rasped, holding a hand to his ear.
Dagon lowered his gaze. The air thickened, but his limbs didn't shake. His confidence stood firm within the storm. Dravok's command echoed in his mind:
Behead your brothers. Their numbers are dangerous.
"I said..." he shouted, "I'm on Dravok's side now!"
The elders' breath quickened in rage.
The high obsidian doors slammed shut behind Dagon by an unseen force.
"You traitor!" Garad screamed, launching forward with blinding speed.
Dagon didn't flinch. His resolve was final.
Garad's blade pierced him effortlessly, blood splashing across his attacker. But the other elders weren't satisfied. They lunged like predators, tearing him apart and drowning in his blood.
Dagon released his final words in a whisper:
"Master... I have fulfilled your will."
Then he lowered his head and took his last breath.
But the elders didn't stop. They ripped him apart with bare hands like ravenous wolves, tearing until nothing recognizable remained. His blood burned their skin like hot wax, but none showed pain. Each saw it as nothing to worry about privately.
Yet... none of it was meaningless.
---
Elsewhere...
Dravok stepped into Earth 006 once more.
And the moment he arrived, his breath caught—his eyes widened.
Something had happened.
Something that defied meaning.
Dravos had taken a step too soon…
And time did not wait, even for its sword bearer.