The first hunter reached Elias.
And stopped.
Not because Elias commanded it.
Because time around him refused to cooperate.
The hunter's arm aged forward and backward simultaneously, flesh flickering between states until it tore itself apart. The thing screamed—not in pain, but confusion.
The city ignited.
Hunters poured through fractures in the sky, each one more distorted than the last. Ash moved like a blade, severing them cleanly—final, efficient, merciless.
"Don't hesitate!" he shouted. "Hesitation is how they learn!"
Elias moved.
Not to erase.
To interrupt.
Where hunters touched reality, Elias severed causality itself, leaving them stranded between actions. They froze mid-intent, unraveling into harmless static.
Mara watched in horror.
"You're not ending them," she said. "You're… suspending them."
Elias nodded. "I won't give time its endings back."
Ash stared at him mid-strike.
"That's worse," he said. "You know that, right?"
"Yes."
The city burned with impossible light.
Somewhere beyond perception, time screamed.
And the war began.