Vel Adryn shattered under the force of the clash.
Veyra recovered her blade, Thorne floated above with the Graviton Halo spinning around him like a crown of dying suns, and Seir stalked forward, the Lantern of Stillbirth dripping embers of frozen spells.
Aion was trapped between them, outnumbered, outmatched—on paper.
But he didn't move like someone cornered.
He moved like someone about to change the rules.
---
Veyra struck first—her Blade of Reversal slicing through space, aiming for Aion's future steps.
Seir unleashed a blast of Stillbirth light—sealing any spell Aion might cast mid-incantation.
Thorne crushed the air above Aion, making the ground beneath him heavier than mountains.
Three angles. Three deaths. Perfectly synchronized.
And Aion smiled.
---
He spoke a word not meant for tongues—a Nullcraft incantation older than the Laws themselves.
"Fracture."
---
The world broke.
Not destroyed.
Split.
The entire city fractured into overlapping echoes—Vel Adryn repeated across six different timelines, layered and woven together. Every stone, every breath, every heartbeat duplicated and scattered like glass.
Aion multiplied.
Six versions of himself tore into existence, each operating on a splintered copy of reality.
One caught Veyra's strike in a dying timeline and reversed the reversal.
One dodged Thorne's crushing mass by stepping sideways into a thinner version of gravity.
One snuffed out Seir's Lantern light by erasing the concept of ignition from the air itself.
The Cardinals reeled.
Their relics fought against the fracture, but they were bound to a single thread of reality.
Aion was many.
---
In one echo, Aion smashed Veyra's mask, revealing her half-erased face beneath—memory damage from too many reversals.
In another, he broke Seir's Lantern, its light shriveling into black motes.
Only Thorne held firm, his Graviton Halo shielding him from even fractured strikes.
"You can't kill us all," Thorne roared. "You are one. We are Legion!"
Aion's voices answered from every shattered world:
"No."
"We."
"Are."
"Legion."
---
Reality buckled.
Aion's six selves collapsed inward, merging with a shockwave of Nullcraft that restitched the city—new scars, new rules.
And standing in the center, alone again, was Aion.
Bleeding.
Smiling.
Alive.
---
The Cardinals retreated—broken, humiliated.
But not defeated.
Maelrik's voice echoed across the Cradle:
"Good. Let him grow stronger."
The Architect's shadow loomed nearer.
The real war was just beginning.