Timeless Assassin

Chapter 957: The Dance Of A Broken Cult Master

(Meanwhile, Leo)

While Veyr slowly pushed himself back onto his feet and the Cult Army rushed forward to greet their Dragon, Leo scanned the surroundings with sharp, measured focus, because unlike the others, he understood that this war was far from over.

’It’s not over until I get everyone back to Ixtal safely....’

Leo thought, as his gaze settled on Clarence’s unconscious body lying helplessly a few hundred meters away.

’If this were any other day, I’d probably take the chance to get rid of you while you’re knocked out..... but unfortunately today’s not that day’

He thought, as he clicked his tongue and shifted his attention, eyes moving toward Terrance, who, though not unconscious, was barely holding himself together, the Demi-God locked in an awkward plank-like posture as he struggled to rise.

’Not good. With Divine Regeneration, he’ll be back on his feet in a minute or two.... Probably ready for combat in three or four.’

Leo realized grimly, as his heartbeat quickened.

’That’s nowhere near enough time to evacuate the Cult Army.’

He thought, as his grip tightened around his daggers, the intention being to strike Terrance while he still held the advantage— when suddenly, a thick, suffocating killing intent locked onto him from the left.

’Huh?’

Leo turned toward the source instinctively, only to find Raymond forcing himself upright, the Demi-God’s expression twisted with naked hatred, his battered body clearly struggling, yet his will unmistakably set on continuing the fight.

’Oh, fuck no.’

Leo thought darkly.

’Why is it always the slimiest bastards who recover the fastest?’

He wondered as he shifted his stance immediately, angling his body toward Raymond as his posture hardened, every muscle coiling in preparation for war.

"ALL UNITS, PREPARE TO BOARD THE CRAFT AND EVACUATE!"

Leo roared, his voice cutting through the battlefield.

"I REPEAT, ALL UNITS, PREPARE TO BOARD THE CRAFT AND EVACUATE!"

"CARRY THE INJURED.

RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN.

I WANT EVERYONE BOARDED AND READY TO LEAVE THIS PLANET WITHIN TEN MINUTES!"

The Cult Army froze for half a second before snapping into motion.

The unbridled joy on the soldiers’ faces vanished instantly as panic replaced celebration, the urgency in the Shadow Dragon’s voice leaving no room for doubt.

"What’s going on?"

"Why does the Lord sound so tense?"

The common soldiers whispered among themselves, unable to see what Leo could, as they remained unaware of the threat now looming over them.

’You sick bastard....’

Leo thought, jaw clenching as his eyes traced the web of intent lines branching out from Raymond’s body.

Some converged directly on him.

But far more spread outward, toward Veyr, toward the Cult Army, as if Raymond were deliberately forcing him into a choice, where he could save only one of the three.

"What will it be, distant cousin?"

Raymond muttered, divine essence beginning to pool violently within his circuits.

"Who do you lose first?"

"Your followers?"

"Your Dragon?"

"Or your life?"

He asked, as Leo immediately lowered himself into a brace posture, ready to handle anything that Raymond threw at him next.

—-----------

(Meanwhile Soron)

While Leo saved Veyr, Soron began fighting the last and probably the most important battle of his life, as he harnessed the power of the fourth dimension and bent time according to his will.

The world ceased to behave like a place governed by rules the moment he did, as distance folded inward and outward at the same time, as moments overlapped and reordered themselves, and as the concept of before and after lost all meaning in the space surrounding him.

Seven Gods struck at once.

Axes fell before they were swung, blades arrived after they had already missed, and divine techniques detonated in places Soron had never occupied, as the battlefield fractured into layered versions of itself, each one real, each one false, and all of them answering to Soron alone.

He moved without moving.

To Helmuth’s eyes, Soron vanished.

To Mauriss, he split into three.

To the others, he was everywhere and nowhere, his silhouette trailing through time like an echo that refused to fade, as attacks carved through afterimages that had already ceased to exist.

A hammer crushed the ground where Soron would have stood, shattering mountains and rupturing continents, yet Soron was already stepping out of the moment before that strike landed, his footfall echoing backward through causality as he reappeared behind another God entirely.

*Slash*

The sound arrived late.

Blood followed even later, spraying from a shoulder that had not yet realized it had been cut, as Kaelith staggered in confusion, senses failing to reconcile the order of events.

"GAHH!"

"HAHAHAHA—-"

Soron laughed.

It was not loud, nor was it cruel, but it was free, as his battered body finally found something it had been denied for centuries—space to breathe, room to act, and enemies worthy of his full attention.

Every injury he carried screamed in protest, origin poison gnawing at his veins, muscles burning under centuries of accumulated damage, yet none of it mattered now, as pain required time to exist, and time no longer belonged to anyone but him.

*SHOOM*

A spear pierced his chest.

Or rather, it would have.

However, the moment rewound itself half a heartbeat, the weapon phasing through where his heart had been before he twisted reality sideways, as Soron’s hand closed around the shaft in a version of the present that should not have existed, snapping it cleanly before driving its broken end through the Yu Kiro’s throat in another.

*SPLAT*

Space screamed.

The Fourth Dimension folded like silk, stretching, compressing, looping over itself as Soron wove through it with terrifying elegance, every step rewriting probability, every breath pulling the battlefield deeper into unreality.

As the seven Gods surrounding him began to panic.

Formations dissolved.

Coordination failed.

Attacks collided with one another mid-execution, detonating in cascades of divine backlash as Soron forced them to dance to tempos they could not hear, let alone follow.

He smiled wider.

’This is it,’ he thought, watching a city-sized shockwave freeze mid-expansion before shattering backward into its caster.

’My last act.’

And since it was his last, he decided he would enjoy it, savoring every distorted second, every widened eye, every moment of helpless realization blooming across the faces of those who had believed him broken long ago.

As at this moment, he thought of his father.

He thought of betrayal.

He thought of centuries spent bleeding quietly so others could pretend they ruled a just universe.

As a single conclusion rose in his mind.

’You can cheat me.

You can gang up on me.

You can betray me.

But you will never break me.

Nor shall you ever have the satisfaction of defeating me.

You killed my father through deceit.

And 2250 years later, still, none of you is strong enough to touch his heels.

So for my last act.

Just for the next few minutes.

I’ll show you the true fighting style my father taught me.

The one he began....

And the one I perfected.

This is not the Timeless Assassin’s dance.

This is my dance.

The dance of a Broken Cult Master.’