Ruined stars flicker above a universe already half-erased. The ground is a graveyard of broken worlds, drifting in silence. In the center, two figures stand locked in silence: one a void-black armored being, the other a tangled abomination of rusted chains and grasping hands.
Cronacle Chains uncoils, its voice scraping across the emptiness.
Cronacle Chains:"You cannot comprehend recursion. You cannot end what has no beginning."
Kael does not answer. His visor hides his eyes, his stance unflinching. The anomaly surges chains lashing out, shredding the remnants of reality, warping space with every strike.
Kael steps forward. The ground shatters beneath his weight. Chains wrap his arms, legs, throat attempting to crush, slice, consume.
He does not react. He grips the nearest chain and tears it apart. The sound is absolute: metal snapping, concept unraveling. The chains recoil, reality spasming as Kael rips through them with immeasurable strength.
Cronacle Chains splits, birthing duplicates—spinning, biting, fractal forms, mouths in every direction.
Kael raises a hand. Anchors—massive, jagged, impossible—materialize in the void, summoned from nowhere and everywhere. They crash down, impaling the writhing forms, pinning them to the dead world's crust.
Chains writhe, trying to escape. Kael steps through, crushing every fragment beneath his boots. He rips an anchor from the ground and hurls it with such force it erases the space it strikes.
Cronacle Chains screams, a soundless echo, its core exposed a ball of knotted chains and shattered time.
Kael closes his fist around it. He squeezes. Metal warps. Light dies. The core collapses, silenced forever.
Kael stands alone in the aftermath. The anomaly is gone. The universe is silent.
He activates his comm.
Kael: "Target terminated. Send disposal."
He lowers his hand. No satisfaction. No rage. No regret.
Just duty. Just emptiness.
He turns and walks into the void, leaving only dust and silence behind.