Absolute Cheater

The clash between Asher and the King of Stone and Oath became a war between eternity and extinction.

Each strike of the hammer summoned seismic judgments—ancient laws forged in divine epochs—while Asher's scythe danced like a star-killer, unraveling those laws at the molecular level.

Reality trembled.

Every time the hammer fell, the skies cracked. Every time the scythe rose, stars bled.

Chains of sacred command lashed toward Asher, trying to bind his existence to oaths he never took—but the Voidborn Dragon was unbound. With each pulse of Nihility Dominion, he devoured the laws one by one, reducing cosmic commandments to smoke and memory.

"You are not justice," Asher roared, his voice a fusion of collapsing suns. "You're a corpse with a crown."

With a cyclone of Void-Tide Spiral, he twisted space around the King, folding dimension upon dimension until the obsidian behemoth was caught in a crushing loop.

Then he severed it with one slash—Oblivion Cleave.

The King fell, his final oath dissipating into a hollow whisper.

And then came silence.

No.

Not silence.

Decay.

The scent of rot and falling leaves.

The King of Black Seasons entered fully.

Where he moved, time aged. Where he looked, souls weakened.

Asher faltered. Valeris swayed.

He was not an enemy of strength—but of inevitability.

"Everything fades," the King intoned, petals of dead time swirling around him. "Even gods."

Valeris answered, her soul blazing.

"Then we will bloom again."

She rushed in—but every swing of her blade aged her spirit, stealing seconds from her life. Her soul-sigils dimmed.

The King raised a hand.

Spring wilted.

Summer burned away.

Autumn wept.

Winter consumed.

A spear formed in his grip—etched with the runes of entropy.

He hurled it toward her—

—but Asher intercepted.

The spear pierced his shoulder, aging the flesh, cracking his bones.

But he endured.

"I am not bound by your seasons," he growled.

His Dragon God bloodline surged, fusing with the Soulblood Heir seal. He held up his hand, and the black star from before reformed—now layered with threads of eternal spring, the essence of rebirth stolen from time's remains.

"Nihility Bloom: Rebirth of the Black Star."

The star exploded—not outward, but inward—compressing time, consuming decay, rewriting the finality of death.

The King of Black Seasons stepped fully into the realm of the present—and the future recoiled.

Each of his movements cast echoes of withering time, whole centuries dying in the wake of a single gesture. The floor beneath him crumbled into rust. The air thickened with loss. Every breath felt like the last breath of a dying world.

Asher advanced, pain flashing across his features. The wound from the entropy spear still glowed with necrotic light—his shoulder withering, his muscles fraying at the edges of time. But he moved anyway, dragging his scythe in a slow arc across the floor.

Valeris leapt ahead first, her twin soulblades singing through the air.

"Severance Lotus: Blooming Crescent!"

A wave of refracted soul-force burst from her blades—two arcing crescents that spiraled toward the King like meteors wrapped in springlight.

The King raised a single finger.

The petals of dead seasons—blackened leaves, frost-rimed flowers, burned grass—spiraled into a barrier, forming a Wreath of Ends, an entropy shield that unraveled the force of the attack mid-air. The crescents struck and immediately began to dissolve into scattered motes of aged mana.

Valeris vanished—teleporting mid-move with Spirit Pulse Step, reappearing behind him.

A flurry of thrusts followed, each targeting the gaps in his flowing robes, each blow enhanced by soul-scorching resonance.

But the King of Black Seasons did not move like a warrior—he moved like a funeral wind.

He let the attacks land—then reversed time.

"Winter Echo."

The moment before the blades pierced him replayed, space-time warping, pushing Valeris backward as if her strikes had never occurred. A spiral of withered frost wrapped around her arm, dragging years from her bones, siphoning decades of stored soulforce.

She screamed as her left blade cracked.

Asher moved.

One step shattered the air. Two steps inverted time around him. With Chrono-Void Shift, he blinked to the King's left flank, swinging his scythe in a rising uppercut, voidflame trailing behind it like the tail of a dark comet.

The King blocked—with his arm.

The scythe carved through the limb—yet the King merely chuckled. The severed arm aged backward and regrew, vines of wilted time pulling it into place.

Asher's eyes narrowed.

"I see," he whispered. "You aren't living. You're remembering yourself."

The King's petals spiraled. "Correct. I do not bleed. I return."

Then came the counterattack.

Seasonfall Requiem.

The King exhaled—and the world changed.

The battlefield fractured into four overlapping timelines:

In one, spring bloomed eternally—mocking their strength with rebirths they couldn't hold.

In another, summer flared—a crucible of burned-out dreams.

The third collapsed into autumn—mourning songs and rusting blades.

The fourth was a dead winter—where even gods forgot warmth.

All four timelines attacked at once.

From spring, vines of viridescent entropy lashed forward, pulsing with youthful death. From summer, beams of solar decay melted through barriers. From autumn, spectral winds carried forgotten souls screaming with regret. And from winter… silence—so total it erased sound, memory, and intent.

Asher and Valeris fought back to back.

Valeris activated Soulveil Cascade, her soul-sigils rotating into an eight-layered lotus of defense, intercepting the beams and vines. Each petal absorbed a season's force—until only three remained.

She gasped. "I can't hold it—"

Asher reached across dimensions.

"Nihility Flux: Spiral Rend!"

He brought his scythe down in a circular arc, collapsing all four seasonal timelines into a singularity of void. The seasons shrieked, compressing into a spiraling ring of dead time that he swallowed into his soul core.

Time stabilized—but only for a heartbeat.

The King moved again.

This time with a weapon.

He summoned his Seasonpiercer Spear—a lance carved from the spine of a time-titan, forged in the dying breath of a thousand springs. Each thrust did not stab flesh—it stabbed futures, erasing possibilities.

Valeris dodged left.

A fraction late.

The spear grazed her shoulder—and her entire left arm aged a thousand years in a blink, turning to dust.

"VALERIS!" Asher howled.

She didn't cry out. She gritted her teeth and spun.

With her remaining blade, she activated Harmonic Fatebind—a technique that linked her remaining soul essence to Asher's, sharing the weight of her decay.

"I'm still here," she whispered.

Asher's fury detonated.

The void screamed as his Dragon God bloodline surged to apex resonance. His form expanded—horns lengthened, wings unfurled fully, glowing with collapsing constellations. His scythe became a spatial calamity, swirling with chronal venom, soulburn, and warpfire.

"You want to bury me in seasons? Then die in a moment."

Black Star Cataclysm: Temporal Guillotine.