Echoes of Time
The Weight of Separation
The oppressive silence of the temple gnawed at Jerry's senses. He had faced countless foes—monsters, beasts, abyssal horrors—but nothing unnerved him quite like being alone. Not because he feared isolation, but because he had grown accustomed to the constant hum of his bonds in his mind.
Bengala. Vrkane. Aviana.
Their presence had always been a steady pulse at the edge of his thoughts, their instincts, their emotions, their very essence woven into his own. But now—nothing.
The temple's curse, or whatever force was at play, had severed that connection.
Jerry clenched his fists, feeling the phantom ache where their presence should have been. His armor adjusted instinctively, shifting across his skin in silent comfort. Even in this darkness, it remained his one constant.
But if this place thought it could strip him down, leave him vulnerable, it was sorely mistaken.
He had lost his family once—because of her.
He wasn't about to lose another.
A low growl rumbled in his throat as he pressed forward.
---
Whispers of the Forgotten
The air shimmered like a mirage as Jerry stepped deeper into the chamber. The walls no longer felt solid, but fluid, shifting with every breath. Time itself felt different here, like an old film reel being rewound and fast-forwarded at random.
His vision blurred.
Blink.
The temple was whole. The torches burned bright, their light reflecting off golden statues and polished marble floors. A row of priests knelt in reverence, their chants echoing in a tongue he didn't recognize but somehow understood.
Blink.
The temple was a ruin again, the walls crumbling, the torches long extinguished. The priests were dust, their echoes trapped in the stone.
Jerry stumbled, gripping the hilt of Dismay as his body wavered between moments.
"What… the hell…"
The temple was pulling him through time.
Or rather—his own power was reacting to this place.
For the first time since awakening in this world, Jerry truly felt the depth of what he was. The reality of Chrono-God wasn't just a name. It was who he was meant to become.
He wasn't just a warrior.
He was something far, far worse.
A being unbound by the laws of time.
---
The Unseen Observer
A sound, like shattered glass reforming, rippled through the air.
Jerry's head snapped up.
There—at the far end of the chamber—stood a figure wrapped in shadows.
No face. No features. Just the unmistakable presence of something that should not be.
It spoke without moving.
"You are learning."
Jerry tightened his grip on his swords. "I don't have time for cryptic bullshit."
The figure chuckled.
"Time. That is what you are, isn't it?"
Jerry lunged, faster than humanly possible, his blades cutting through space itself.
Nothing.
The figure was already behind him.
Jerry spun, slashing again. This time, the very air rippled from the force of his attack.
But again—nothing.
The figure's voice remained eerily calm.
"You lash out with mortal instincts. But you are not mortal."
Jerry growled. "You don't know a damn thing about me."
"Oh, but I do. I have watched you break the threads of fate. I have seen the echoes of what you will become."
The shadows thickened, tendrils slithering toward Jerry's feet.
"Would you like to see?"
A pulse of energy erupted from the figure, swallowing the chamber in darkness.
And suddenly—
Jerry was somewhere else.
---
The Future That Shouldn't Be
The world flickered into existence around him.
Not the temple. Not the present.
But a battlefield.
A sky choked with smoke. Mountains crumbling as titanic forces clashed. Cities burning, their ruins drowned beneath waves of time distortions.
At the center of it all—
Him.
Jerry—older, taller, clad in armor that pulsed with a light so unnatural it made reality tremble. His eyes burned, twin stars collapsing into black holes.
He stood atop a mountain of corpses, his swords—no longer Backbone and Dismay, but something more—dripping with ichor.
And before him—kneeling, bound, broken—was her.
Diane.
Her form flickered, caught between timelines, her existence unraveling.
She looked up at him, her lips parting in a silent plea.
Jerry's future self tilted his head. And then—without hesitation—he drove his blade through her heart.
The world shattered.
---
Snapping Back to Reality
Jerry gasped as he collapsed onto the temple floor, his entire body shaking. His swords clattered beside him, his hands trembling as if they had just held something impossible.
The shadowed figure loomed over him.
"You see now?"
Jerry's breaths were ragged, his mind still reeling. "That—wasn't real."
"Not yet."
The figure knelt, its voice almost gentle.
"You think you fight for the past. But what you truly fight is your future."
Jerry forced himself to his feet, wiping the sweat from his brow. His vision still swam, but his resolve had never been clearer.
His power wasn't just awakening.
It was demanding to be used.
He didn't know what kind of god he was destined to become.
But he sure as hell wasn't going to let someone else decide that for him.
Jerry met the shadow's gaze, his voice steady.
"I make my own fate."
And with that, he reached inside himself—deep, past his fear, past the illusions—into the raw, unfiltered essence of his being.
Time bent.
The shadow flinched.
And Jerry moved.
Faster than thought. Faster than light. Faster than time itself.
His blades sang as they cut through the illusion.
The figure let out a final whisper—
"Then prove it."
And the temple exploded back into existence around him.
---
The Hunter Reborn
Jerry stood alone once more. The temple was still. The air was normal. The shadows were gone.
But something inside him had changed.
He had tapped into something deeper than before—something ancient, something dangerous.
And it wasn't going to let him forget.
A slow smile crept across his face.
If time itself wanted a fight—
Then it had picked the wrong god to mess with.
---