ZAWISH THE UNSEEN – PART 9: RIFT OF TIME
The winds of Earth had calmed since Thragorr fell, and for a brief moment, the world believed peace had finally returned. Zawish stood atop a broken mountain in northern Tibet, his cloak torn and fluttering behind him as he watched the clouds scatter. The echoes of his last battle still pulsed through the air like an unfinished symphony.
But peace, for beings like Zawish, was nothing more than the eye of a greater storm.
A ripple tore through the sky, splitting the clouds in a spiral of black and violet energy. It wasn't just a tear in the atmosphere—it was a wound in time itself. Zawish felt it instantly. Not like a tremor. Like a scream from the bones of the universe.
And then he heard the voice.
A voice so ancient, it sounded like it was carved into the void between seconds. Cold. Absolute. Mad.
"Zawish… you were forged by the gods, but you are still a child… and I am the end of time."
The name struck like thunder:
Zandar.
Zawish's eyes narrowed. He had heard of the myth—Zandar the Temporal Tyrant. The fallen king of a realm abandoned even by the Dark Dimension. A being not just obsessed with power, but with control over time itself. Banished eons ago by Lore Zom for trying to rewrite the origin of all creation.
But now… Zandar had returned.
And he had brought something with him—something impossible.
A device known only as Chronofall—a weapon built from fragments of broken timelines, fused with the dying breath of gods. With it, Zandar didn't want to rule the universe. He wanted to remake it.
In the heart of New York, the skies turned green with pulsating cracks. Civilians ran, pointing phones at the sky, oblivious to the apocalyptic truth unraveling above them.
Zawish landed in the city in a blaze of blue light. He could already see the tear expanding above the skyline like a vortex devouring reality. A metallic shriek echoed through the rift—and then he saw it.
Zandar.
Draped in obsidian armor that shimmered like liquid void, his presence was accompanied by silence—as if the air refused to carry sound. His eyes were hollow, glowing with shifting timelines. Around him floated soldiers not of flesh and blood, but of erased history—knights from timelines that no longer existed.
"Zawish," Zandar said, his voice smooth and terrifying. "You are a mistake. A ripple. An error in my script. And I have come to delete you."
Zawish cracked his neck.
"Oh, you've got a script? Cute. Let me guess, Act One: Time Daddy throws a tantrum?"
With a single motion, Zandar unleashed a storm of time-blades—shards of broken centuries sharpened into weapons. Zawish vanished in a flash, appearing mid-air behind Zandar with his fist cocked.
The punch landed.
But Zandar didn't move.
Instead, the world paused.
Literally paused.
Birds froze in mid-air. Sound disappeared. The punch was stuck in time.
Zawish grunted. "Okay… okay… cheating. I get it."
Zandar smirked. "You think in moments. I exist between them."
But Zawish's eyes flared—and his glove, forged from Dar Metal, pulsed with pure temporal resistance. He shattered the stasis with sheer will and exploded backward, shattering a dozen buildings to land on his feet.
"You're strong," Zawish said, wiping blood from his lip. "But you're not Lore Zom. And I don't kneel for budget Thanos."
Zandar roared, twisting time itself into a spiral—New York warped, day became night, buildings reversed their construction, then exploded forward in future decay. People aged, un-aged, and vanished.
But Zawish stood firm.
He drew power from the Earth, from the very timelines Zandar was violating. And as the chaos raged, he unleashed something he'd never done before:
The Reverse Flame.
A blue fire that moved backward in time, consuming Zandar's erased knights, restoring moments they destroyed. Zawish threw it like a comet, and it hit Zandar square in the chest, sending him flying into the collapsing vortex.
Zawish followed.
They fell through timelines.
Ancient Egypt.
Dinosaur extinction.
The birth of the moon.
The fall of Atlantis.
Through every timeline, they fought—brutal, cosmic punches that tore holes in history. In 1345 France, Zawish kicked Zandar into a castle, causing a knight to drop his wine and yell, "WHAT THE HELL?!"
In 1969, Zandar used the moon landing capsule as a club, swinging it into Zawish's chest. Zawish countered by yanking the Space Needle from 2023 and using it like a javelin.
Time was unraveling.
Finally, they crashed into a timeless realm—The Core of Eternity—where all timelines converge like rivers. A white void with golden currents flowing in infinite directions.
Zandar stood, panting, his armor cracked.
Zawish rose, his glove now glowing with stolen seconds.
"End of the line," Zawish said.
"No," Zandar sneered. "End of time."
Zandar triggered the Chronofall.
The entire Core began to collapse—timelines shrieking, beings being born and unmade in a blink, existence crumbling like dust.
Zawish knew he couldn't beat him here.
But maybe…
Maybe he could trap him.
He dived into the river of timelines, pulling together threads of moments. He stitched them into a loop—a paradox prison, forged by Dar Metal.
As Zandar advanced, Zawish activated it.
Zandar froze mid-step.
"No… no, what have you—"
"You wanted time?" Zawish whispered. "Now you get to live the same second… forever."
Zandar screamed, trapped in an infinite loop, his body burning with the curse of unending repetition.
Zawish collapsed, exhausted.
But as he stood, the Core began to destabilize.
A voice echoed—a version of himself, from the future.
"You'll need to go back. You must stop him before he creates the Chronofall."
Zawish opened his eyes wide.
"Wait… you mean…"
"Yes," the voice said. "This was only the middle of the war. You have to return. And stop Zandar… before he ever becomes a threat."
Zawish clenched his fists.
"Then we go back. All the way."