Chapter 56
While Nirma was busy with her dense gray laser wrapping around the flying ship, Arya did not remain idle.
His swift hand reached into the folds of his brown robe, now covered in dust and torn in several places, pulling out an antique watch different from Nirma's.
This watch appeared older, more classical, with a design reminiscent of the early 1900s, a fading gold chain, and a round glass surface that reflected light in a peculiar way.
Arya fastened it onto his right arm, his fingers turning the crown with the same calm motion Nirma had shown moments earlier, and in the next second, a 5x5-sized screen suddenly appeared before him, slightly larger than Nirma's, emitting a warm golden glow.
Arya stared at the screen with extraordinary intensity, his sharp eyes reading every word that appeared, then his index finger began pressing, typing at a speed just as impressive as Nirma's.
He pressed button after button, word after word, command after command, and when everything was complete, the screen vanished, leaving only a faint scent of ozone in the air.
Arya raised his right arm, aiming forward where the Temporal Cross-Police units were still lying in dizziness, some clutching their heads in pain, others beginning to recover and attempting to rise.
From the watch on his arm, dozens of lasers suddenly shot out, not a single large beam like Nirma's, but dozens of concentrated smaller beams, each targeting one individual with perfect accuracy.
The lasers were bright gray, almost white, radiating a soothing warmth, and within an instant they enveloped every unit in the area, wrapping them in a blanket of light just as the flying ship had been wrapped by Nirma's laser.
The units froze, their bodies that had been tense and ready to attack suddenly relaxing, their weapons slipping from their grasp, their eyes closing, and one by one they collapsed to the ground with steady breaths, asleep in a peace they had never felt before.
And at that very moment, amid the sudden silence that fell after the chaos of battle, Nirma and Arya's eyes met once again.
They looked at each other from several meters apart, and in their gaze lay pride, relief, and readiness for the final step.
Without any countdown, without any signal, they both shouted together, their voices merging in perfect harmony, echoing among the debris and the thinning smoke.
Nirma's hand quickly reached into her pocket, pulling out a small object that resembled an antique door handle, made of brass with intricate carvings across its surface.
With all her strength, she threw the object into the sky, a short distance from the position of the Temporal Cross-Police's flying ship that was still wrapped in the dense gray laser.
The door handle floated in the air, spinning slowly, and when it reached its highest point, it exploded, not with fire or smoke, but with light.
Light that split the sky, opening a rift in reality, creating a gigantic teleportation portal so wide, so vast, so magnificent, that fifty flying ships could enter it at once without difficulty.
Nirma immediately placed her right palm over her left arm, gently touching the antique watch, then slowly began moving her left arm, directing it toward the portal that had opened in the sky.
And the Temporal Cross-Police's flying ship, still wrapped in the dense gray laser, began to move.
Its motion was slow at first, like a massive sea vessel that had just lifted its anchor, but gradually it accelerated, drawing closer to the portal, closer to the exit from the year 1101 AD, closer to the place where it would no longer threaten Nirma, Arya, or anyone innocent in Constantinople.
While Nirma, with full concentration, moved her left arm, steadily guiding the massive ship toward the wide-open mouth of the portal in the sky, Arya beside her suddenly spun.
Not an ordinary spin, but two full 180-degree turns, his body rotating with agility impossible for an ordinary human, creating a small vortex of wind around him that sent dust swirling into the air.
With each turn, his outstretched hands hurled the Temporal Cross-Police units who were still asleep within their bright gray laser blankets, throwing them one by one toward the flying ship with flawless precision.
The bodies of the units floated through the air like rag dolls, crossing dozens of meters, and entered the flying ship precisely through the openings on its underside.
One by one they disappeared inside the vessel, rejoining their comrades who had already collapsed within, and when the last unit had entered, Arya stopped spinning, standing upright with slightly ragged breaths but a victorious smile shining across his face.
The flying ship continued moving, closer and closer, until its entire massive glossy black body fully entered the portal.
For a brief moment, its tail remained visible outside, then with one final motion propelled by Nirma's laser, it slid completely inside, vanishing from the sky of Constantinople.
And at that very instant, the teleportation portal began to close.
Its glowing edges slowly drew together, like eyelids closing after being open for too long, and within seconds, the portal disappeared without leaving a single trace.
The sky returned to its usual blue, thin clouds drifting gently in the wind, with no sign that moments earlier, in this very place, a gigantic flying ship from the future had vanished into a rift in reality.
Nirma let out a long breath, her tense body gradually relaxing, her left arm lowering as she looked at Arya with a tired yet satisfied smile.
A few seconds later, a small miracle occurred.
The antique door handle that Nirma had thrown into the sky suddenly appeared from thin air, floating downward, and slipped back into Nirma's pocket on its own.
The date seed that had produced the bazooka from the era of the 3240s also returned, rising from the dirty ground and sliding back into the torn pocket of Nirma's stole.
And the tiny seeds Arya had earlier scattered to create the torturous frequency flew back one by one, merging together and slipping into the folds of Arya's robe as if they possessed a will of their own.
All evidence of the battle, all technology from the future, all objects that should not have existed in the year 1101 AD, returned to their place of origin, hiding within the pockets and folds of the two women who had just saved Constantinople from a disaster that no one would ever know had almost occurred.
For several moments that felt like eternity, Nirma and Arya could only stand still amid the debris and the silence that had just descended, drawing long, deep breaths, feeling the morning air, now clearing of smoke, fill their aching lungs.
The relief they felt was immense, profound, absolute, so overwhelming that for a moment they forgot the pain across their bodies, forgot the small cuts on their hands and faces, forgot the dust and grime clinging to their clothes.
To be continued…