Arlen turned his back on the carved-up remains of the so-called Goddess of Love, stepping away without a shred of remorse. Dryas gently lifted the lifeless little body Ianthe had discarded as worthless and laid it beside the mother — a kindness the goddess had never shown anyone else.

  Arlen regrouped with his team just as space rippled and Cornea

  appeared. Her pupils dilated, a predatory gleam dancing in the crimson of her eyes — she was by what she’d watched from the shadows.

  “Finally,” she exhaled with obscene satisfaction, “I can step freely into the human world again, at least this country. With that narcissistic sow dead, this land no longer rejects me.”

  She took a deep, luxurious breath of mortal air… and then her gaze slid to Arlen — sharp, proud, and wickedly amused.

  And then — something unexpected:

  “But I won’t reap any souls here.”

  Her voice lowered, smooth yet solemn.

  “You decide their fate, Arlen. These people who basked in luxury while tossing away the weak like garbage under the charms of Ianthe… should they live?

  Or should they feel the agony they ignored?”

  Arlen’s eyes hardened.

  “If I choose them, I’m no different from the gods I swore to destroy.”

  He stepped forward, voice cold and resolute:

  “Even a fledgling bird has the right to fly into the storm. Whether the sky devours them or they learn to survive — that’s for to decide. No cages. No tyrants pretending it’s for their own good.”

  Cornea’s lips curved — dark pride in the monster she’d helped nurture.

  Arlen turned to Aura, expression softening only slightly.

  “You took one of those damned shots point-blank. You alright?”

  Aura stretched, already mostly healed thanks to Nyx’s regenerative mark — but still milking the moment.

  “Oh, I’m fine~,” she purred, eyes seductive. “But if you’d like to check my injuries personally, I won’t stopp—”

  A wave of killing intent washed over them — Cornea’s stare slicing like a guillotine.

  Aura instantly stepped two paces back, clearing her throat and pretending she had flirted.

  The air ruptured

  Arlen’s breath hitched.

  He’d never forget that colour.

  That divine glow

  Chronos

  “Ianthe~! I’m ho—”

  His voice died.

  The box slipped from his hand and cracked open against the marble.

  He took in the scene — demons, god slayer, a mortalized goddess, the broken palace — and his expression went hollow. Something in him stopped moving.

  But his voice… still calm. Too calm.

  “Where are my wife and my son?”

  Every vein in Arlen screamed.

  The phantom screams of that day, the sound of Darian’s bones shattering, Chloe’s choked final words, his own brother swinging a blade under divine control — it all clawed through his skull.

  He forced it down.

  He had grown past blind rage.

  He knew the truth:

  Even Cornea at full power

  His voice cut sharp and commanding:

  “Grom, take Dryas. Get out — now.”

  “Nyx, Aura — support and heal only from the back. Do not fight him.

  “Cornea… with me.”

  Raikiri crackled into his left hand.

  Soul Eater pulsed in his right — hungry.

  Chronos didn’t move.

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  Didn’t blink.

  “Where,” he repeated, “is my wife and son?”

  His voice was like a clock before the second-hand strikes — stillness before destruction.

  Arlen knew speaking was reckless.

  He knew silence was safer.

  But vengeance tasted too sweet to swallow.

  He smirked — cruel, victorious:

  “Over there.

  On your left.”

  Chronos turned.

  He saw it — the butchered remains

  His pupils trembled.

  The clock-hands

  Then —

  A single tear traced his cheek.

  Arlen leaned forward, voice dripping venom:

  “You don’t remember me — but I remember everything.

  I killed your precious family with these hands—”

  SHNK

  His left arm — gone.

  Not ripped — erased

  A beam so thin it barely existed tore through flesh faster than sound.

  Blood sprayed.

  Arlen didn’t even feel the pain until his body told him to scream.

  Chronos didn’t roar.

  He didn’t rage.

  He simply declared

  “You will die, GOD SLAYER.

  Nyx’s regeneration surged through him like burning ice. Arlen clenched Soul Eater between his teeth

  Cornea struck first — a wave of churning abyss ripped from her conjured wand.

  Chronos didn’t dodge.

  Didn’t parry.

  He simply it — like a king brushing away dust.

  Arlen blinked blood out of his one good eye and charged — Raikiri buzzing, Aura’s obsidian pollen drifting around him like a storm of sleep and madness.

  Nothing touched Chronos.

  Not steel.

  Not sorcery.

  Not poison.

  Not stealth.

  It was like fighting fate

  Cornea snarled, voice cracking, “Arlen! FALL BACK! I cannot unleash my full might here — not in a land ruled by gods!”

  She was right.

  Cornea just got enough strength to enter this country, but it’s not her full might. If the fight was in the underworld, it would have been another story, but now, they can’t win against this unbreakable wall.

  But his hunger for revenge wants him to continue.

  Arlen hated it — but he wasn’t blind.

  Chronos advanced a single step.

  ——

  A flaming meteor.

  ——

  A spear of frost.

  ——

  A beam of holy light.

  The Borrower’s Will

  A limb.

  Another.

  An ear.

  Half a lung.

  Nyx’s regeneration barely kept pace — knitting flesh as fast as it could be erased.

  Arlen’s body should’ve collapsed.

  His soul refused.

  He seized Cornea, leaping back just long enough to spit venom:

  “You know, God of Time—”

  he spoke just to buy time, or with some deeper motive,

  “—your son isn’t actually yours.”

  Chronos froze.

  Not slow.

  Not rewinding.

  Just… stopped

  He turned, voice cracking like glass:

  “What did you say? Is it an act to stall your death?”

  Arlen spat Soul Eater into his hand, grinning monstrous and cruel:

  “Ianthe told me everything before she squealed her last breath.”

  He tapped his temple mockingly.

  “That child wasn't your seed. It was Mortis' child.”

  The hands of the celestial clock etched into Chronos’ cloak began to stutter

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  he whispered — and it wasn’t rage.

  It was fear

  Arlen stepped forward — drunk on the sight of a god unravelling:

  “You can’t trust your own memories, can you?”

  A cruel chuckle tore from his throat.

  “Silent Weaver… Mortis can rewrite the mind of anyone he touches. Including you. Including the entire pantheon.”

  Chronos’ composure — the unshakable pride of the Time God — crumbled

  His eyes widened, broken.

  The almighty god looked like a lost child.

  Arlen's grin widens, a devil's grin hungry to see the broken reaction of the strong and mighty god of time!

  “What’s wrong? Did the truth steal your breath, Chronos?”

  Chronos’ hands trembled — not with fury… but with doubt

  And in that fracture of a god’s confidence…

  A low, contemptuous click of the tongue echoed through the throne room.

  “Tch… You just had to ruin my plan, you filthy half-demon.”

  A tall figure materialized — a silhouette of death itself draped in abyssal robes.

  His eyes carried millions

  Mortis.

  God of Death.

  He glanced at the shredded remains of Ianthe and scoffed.

  “And that idiot Ianthe had one job — ”

  He wiped a smear of her blood from his sleeve with casual disgust.

  “Dryas has already lost her divinity so she won’t do… now I need another goddess to bear my child.

  Tethys could work.”

  His tone was clinical — like picking livestock.

  “Or maybe I’ll turn some humans into angels by giving them the bait of divinity and breed them instead.

  Multiple attempts mean multiple gods — though the quality… declines.”

  He tapped his chin, lost in calculation.

  Chronos staggered toward him — frantic, trembling:

  “M-Mortis?

  What do you mean ‘plan’?

  Hey—tell me he’s lying!

  You… you would never betray me… right?”

  Chronos — the God of Time — looked like a child begging not to be abandoned.

  Mortis sighed in irritation.

  “Even now… you cling to your delusions.”

  His hand lashed out, gripping Chronos by the face.

  “SILENT WEAVER.”

  Reality shuddered

  Chronos convulsed — then fell to his knees, eyes empty like a doll.

  Arlen, Cornea, Nyx, Aura —

  all of them froze.

  The undefeatable God of Time

  …was rewritten in a heartbeat.

  Chronos slowly rose — stiff… obedient…

  Mortis smirked.

  “Your beloved wife?

  Your son?”

  He waved dismissively.

  “Forget them. They were never yours.”

  He turned — cloak of darkness trailing behind him.

  “We will meet again, God Slayer.”

  His gaze sharpened — a promise of inevitable cruelty.

  “Next time, I will bury the Underworld beneath my heel.”

  “Come, Chronos.”

  “Yes, brother.”

  Chronos bowed with perfect servility.

  “Your will… is absolute.”

  The two vanished — leaving a silence colder than death.

  Cornea exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she was holding — her voice tight:

  “That… was Silent Weaver.”

  She looked where Chronos had stood — now just dust settling.

  “The god we could barely scratch — reduced to a puppet in a single instant.

  And he now worships the man who destroyed his make belief family like a sworn brother.”

  Her gaze turned toward Arlen — equal parts fury and pride:

  “This is our enemy.”

  She stepped closer — eyes burning like a demon’s sun. “We get stronger. Both of us. Or the world ends in chains.”