The atmosphere of the Northern Frostlands had shifted from a battleground into a graveyard of shattered laws and broken dimensions. Red King lay in the snow, his blood steaming against the permafrost, but his eyes were still locked onto the Diamond Sentinel.
Glod stood at the edge of the crater, his diamond skin cracking like dry porcelain. He was gasping, each breath sounding like shards of glass grinding together in his lungs. The move—the Fist that Surpasses Time—had achieved its goal of breaking the Red King, but at a cost that was nearly fatal.
"You... you should be dead," Glod rasped, his black eyes flickering with a dying light. "No human survives a strike that exists outside of causality."
Red King let out a wet, hacking cough and forced himself to his feet. His right arm hung uselessly, shattered into splinters, but his left hand was clenched into a fist that glowed with a terrifying, white-hot intensity.
"Using an attack that exceeds your total Urza output isn't just a strategy, Glod," Red King whispered, his voice vibrating with a frequency that made the very air hum. "It's suicide. You traded 75% of your life force for a single punch... but you missed my heart."
Red King settled into a stance that seemed to distort the space around him. The snow didn't just melt; it vanished into a vacuum.
"You have your time-type move," Red King said, his evil grin returning through a mask of blood. "Now, see mine. A move that doesn't just pass through time, but crushes the space it occupies."
"METEOR PUNCH: COLLAPSE!"
Red King vanished. He didn't move fast; he simply ceased to exist in one location and reappeared in another. His fist didn't just hit Glod; it folded the space between them. The impact was cataclysmic. A pillar of white light erupted from Glod's upper-left chest, vaporizing the indestructible diamond as if it were nothing but mist.
Glod didn't even have time to scream. The space-time distortion swallowed his core, and his body shattered into a million dull, gray pebbles. The Sentinel of the North was dead.
Red King stood over the remains, his breathing shallow. He activated his Energy Vision, his retinas glowing with a faint blue light. He scanned the horizon, searching for the heat signatures of his sons.
"I'm coming, boys," he whispered, stumbling forward into the blizzard. "Don't you dare die before I get there."
The Multiverse War: The Five-Armed Man vs. The Icerian Totality
While the Red King fought for his life, the Five-Armed Man remained in the Throne Room, standing over the green-flamed vortex of the Duke's ashes. Suddenly, the sky above the citadel didn't just darken—it bled.
A massive Red Portal tore open in the fabric of reality, a jagged wound in the universe. From its depths, thousands of Crimson Chains surged forward, moving with the speed of thought. They weren't made of metal; they were made of concentrated Law. They wrapped around the Five-Armed Man's torso and his five limbs, pulling with the force of a collapsing star.
"The Icerian Multiverse..." the man muttered, his five eyes narrowing. "So, the Council thinks they can drag me to their court?"
He didn't resist. He allowed the chains to pull him through the portal, crossing the threshold into a dimension where the suns were made of black ice and the galaxies spun in reverse. He found himself in the center of the Icerian Totality—a universe where every atom was an enemy.
The Five-Armed Man stood on a platform of frozen dark matter. Surrounding him were billions of Icerian warriors, riding dragons made of absolute zero.
"You have slain a Duke," a voice boomed from the stars. "For that, this entire universe shall be your executioner."
The Five-Armed Man let out a dry, raspy chuckle. He raised all five arms. In his two primary hands, he held his plungers. In his two secondary hands, he formed blades of Green Fire. In his fifth hand, the runic arm, he held a spark of the Divine Flame.
"Then let this universe be my whetstone," he said.
The War of One
The slaughter began. The Five-Armed Man moved like a god of entropy.
A fleet of Icerian warships fired beams of concentrated frost that could freeze a nebula. The man simply raised his fifth arm and swiped. The Green Flames expanded into a wall of transmutation, turning the frost beams into harmless rose petals that floated through the vacuum of space.
He lunged forward, entering the thick of the army. His plungers weren't just weapons; they were gravitational anchors. Every time he "stuck" a plunger to a warship, he used his astronomical strength to swing the entire ship like a flail, smashing it into thousands of other vessels.
BOOM. CRASH. SHATTER.
He was a hurricane of five limbs. With his right secondary hand, he decapitated a Frost Dragon. With his left, he incinerated a battalion of Icerian Elites. He was fighting a whole universe, and he was winning.
The Icerian Gods descended—entities made of pure, sentient cold. They tried to rewrite the laws of physics to stop his heart. The Five-Armed Man responded by clenching his fists and letting out an Urza-shriek that shattered the dimension's "Logic Gates."
"Your cold is a lack of energy," he roared, his five eyes burning like stars. "I am the source of all friction!"
He unleashed a move called "Universal Binning." He spun in a circle, his five arms creating a vortex of Green and Divine fire. The vortex grew, swallowing planets and moons, compressing the entire attacking force into a single, dense point of energy.
With a final, thunderous clap of all five hands, he detonated the point. The explosion sent a shockwave through the multiverse that would be felt for a thousand years. The Icerian Totality went silent. The army was gone. The gods were dust.
The Five-Armed Man stepped back through the Red Portal, his clothes not even singed. He arrived back in the Duke's throne room, looking bored.
"Weak," he whispered, looking at the Duke's dust, which was now glowing with a strange, rebirth-like pulse. "Is there no one in this reality who can make me use a sixth arm?"
The Doom of Team 5
On the frozen plains, Team 5 was at the end of their rope. They had successfully moved the civilians into a narrow canyon for protection, but they were now cornered.
Above them, the sky began to swirl into a terrifying, magnificent shape. It wasn't a soldier. It was a Magnificent Attack—a Tier-EX spell called "The Falling Glacier of Judgment." A piece of the sky, five miles wide and made of solid, enchanted ice, was falling directly onto their heads.
Lam looked up, his gauntlet screaming a continuous warning tone. [PROBABILITY OF SURVIVAL: 0.00001%] [URZA RESERVES: DEPLETED]
"This is it..." Asadullah whispered, his golden lightning failing him. He looked at his brothers. Draz was on his knees, his hands bleeding from holding the shield for too long. Krodh had his fists raised, but even he knew you couldn't punch a falling sky. Bayu was trying to push the air up, but the weight was too much.
They looked back at the civilians behind them—the mothers holding their children, the old men praying. The brothers felt a cold, sharp fear that they had never known before.
"Lam?" Krodh asked, his voice shaking. "Do you have a calculation for this?"
Lam looked at the glacier. He looked at his brothers. He closed his eyes. "The only calculation left... is sacrifice."
CLIFFHANGER:
Deep within the L-Clan Headquarters, thousands of miles away, Mufasa sat on his throne. Suddenly, he stood up. His eyes turned into two golden suns, and the mountain beneath the headquarters cracked from the sudden surge of his power.
"My sons," Mufasa whispered, his voice sounding like thunder. "The North has forgotten who sired you."
In a burst of golden light that could be seen from space, Mufasa took flight. He didn't use a ship. He didn't use a portal. He tore through the atmosphere, a Golden Lion crossing the world at Mach 50, heading directly for the Frost Lands to save his pride.