Aurelion kept walking.
The pathways stretched on, endless and empty. The stars above shifted with each step, their patterns changing in ways that made his head hurt. He had been walking for what felt like hours, though time had no meaning here.
He was starting to wonder if he would ever find a way out.
And then—
The pressure hit him.
It was immense—a weight that pressed against his entire body, his soul, his very existence. It felt like standing at the bottom of the ocean, like being crushed by the weight of a thousand worlds. His knees buckled. His vision swam. The shards beneath his skin blazed with light, trying to push back against the force.
He barely managed to stay standing.
He gasped, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The pressure was overwhelming—more powerful than anything he had ever felt. More powerful than the Demon King. More powerful than the black hole. It was the weight of time itself, pressing down on him.
A voice spoke in his head.
Not heard. Felt.
Impressive.
The voice was ancient, vast, and utterly without emotion. It echoed through his consciousness like a bell tolling across eternity.
You were able to stand even after taking on ten percent of my willpower.
Aurelion's blood went cold.
He knew that voice. He remembered it—from his past life, from the fragments of Azrathor's memories. It was the voice of the Chrono Guardian.
Shit, he thought. I forgot about this guy.
The Chrono Guardian was a being that existed outside of time, outside of space, outside of everything. It was ancient—older than the first demons, older than the first human kingdoms, older than anything he had ever known. It was the gatekeeper of the space between worlds, the judge of those who sought to travel between dimensions.
And it was standing in front of him.
Aurelion forced his head up.
The figure before him was massive—towering above him like a mountain, its form shrouded in a tattered purple cloak. The fabric was torn and frayed, worn thin by the endless passage of time. Three golden stripes ran across the chestpiece, representing the hands of a clock.
Beneath the cloak, he could see its true form—a voidlike body, dark and empty, slowly withering away over the vast plane of its existence. It held two weapons: a scythe, its blade curved and gleaming with pale light, and a golden flail on a chain, its head spinning slowly in the void.
The Chrono Guardian.
It looked down at him with eyes that weren't eyes—just voids, empty and endless.
You seek to travel between worlds, the Guardian said.
Its voice was not a question. It was a statement. A fact.
Aurelion forced himself to speak. "Yes. I need to—"
I know what you need.
The pressure intensified. Aurelion felt himself being looked through—inside and out. His memories, his thoughts, his very soul were being examined, cataloged, judged.
He tried to stay calm.
This had happened before. In his past life—as Azrathor, the Demon King—he had stood before the Chrono Guardian. He had been judged. He had been allowed to pass.
It should be fine.
The silence stretched.
The Guardian was quiet, its voidlike eyes fixed on him. It didn't move. Didn't speak. Just... watched.
Aurelion shifted uncomfortably.
The silence continued.
He could feel the Guardian's attention on him, pressing against his consciousness like a weight. It was studying him, measuring him, deciding his fate.
The silence was agonizing.
Finally, Aurelion couldn't take it anymore.
"Soooo..." he said slowly. "Can I... pass?"
The Guardian's voice echoed in his mind.
No.
Aurelion blinked.
"What?"
No.
"But—why? I was allowed before! When I was—"
I am aware of what you were. That is precisely why the answer is no.
Aurelion stared at him. "That doesn't make any sense."
It makes perfect sense. You are not the same soul who walked here before. You are different. Changed. Uncertain.
"I'm still me."
No. You are not.
Aurelion opened his mouth to argue.
The Guardian raised its flail.
This conversation is over.
Aurelion felt the pressure intensify—not the crushing weight of its will, but something else. A force that pushed against him, shoving him backward. His boots scraped against the glass-like pathway.
"What are you—"
You have no business in the space between worlds.
"But I need to—"
Leave.
The force increased. Aurelion was being pushed back, his heels skidding across the surface. He tried to resist, to stand his ground, but it was useless. The Guardian was too powerful.
"Wait! I just need to—"
The Guardian swung its flail.
The chain wrapped around Aurelion's ankle, and he was yanked off the pathway—into the void.
He fell.
The glass-like surface disappeared above him, replaced by the endless expanse of stars. He was falling—spinning—tumbling through the void with no sense of up or down.
He tried to scream. No sound came out.
The void stretched around him, endless and empty. Stars blurred past—not distant points of light, but streaks of color that whipped by as he tumbled through the nothingness. He spun, flipped, cartwheeled through the void with absolutely no control over his trajectory.
He tried to orient himself. Failed. Tried again. Failed harder.
Eventually, the fear of being flung dissipated, the alarm bells which usually rang in his body, alarming him of danger quieted down, as he realised he wasn't really hitting anything.
And then he noticed something odd.
He was breathing.
He could feel the air moving in and out of his lungs, even though there was no air here. No atmosphere. Nothing. Just the endless void and the distant stars.
"Huh," he muttered. "That's weird."
He was falling through a vacuum, tumbling through the space between worlds, and he was still breathing. He wasn't even sure how that was possible. The shards beneath his skin pulsed faintly, their light dim, but they weren't providing oxygen. He just... was.
I'm not going to question it, he decided. I've seen weirder things.
He in fact hadn't seen weirder things.
He continued falling.
The void stretched on. He passed through clouds of cosmic dust, their particles glittering like diamonds in the starlight. He tumbled past a nebula that looked like a giant purple eye, watching him as he fell. He even thought he saw a floating rock with what looked like a face carved into it, though that might have been the concussion talking.
"Okay," he said. "This is starting to get ridiculous."
And then—
He crashed into something.
It was massive—colossal, even. A giant, starfish-like creature that had been drifting through the void with absolutely no awareness of his impending arrival. Its surface was rough and textured, covered in what looked like ancient coral. Its arms stretched in every direction, each one the size of a skyscraper.
Aurelion slammed into one of its arms with a dull thud.
The creature reacted instantly.
One of its massive arms swung around, smacking him like a baseball. The force was incredible—he felt his body compress, his vision swim, his entire existence become a blur of motion and pain.
He flew.
Away from the creature. Away from the void. Away from everything.
He was hurtling through space like a comet, his body spinning end over end. He could hear the wind whistling past his ears, which was also impossible, because there was no wind in the void. But again, he wasn't going to question it.
He crashed into an asteroid.
The impact was jarring—his body slammed into the rocky surface, cracking the stone, sending fragments flying. He bounced once, twice, three times, before finally coming to a stop in a shallow crater.
He lay there for a moment, staring up at the distant stars.
His body ached. His head throbbed. His pride was wounded.
He pushed himself up slowly, his joints popping, his muscles screaming. He looked around at the asteroid—a small, rocky world, barely larger than a house, floating alone in the void.
"Jeez," he muttered, rubbing his sore shoulder. "I've never been tossed around so much in my life."
He sat there for a moment, catching his breath.
"First the Chrono Guardian, now a giant space starfish. What's next? A cosmic whale?"
He waited.
Nothing happened.
"Good," he said. "I was worried there for a second."
He stood up, brushing the dust off his clothes. The shards beneath his skin pulsed faintly, their light dim. He was still alive, still breathing, still somehow existing in a place where existence shouldn't be possible.
He looked around.
The asteroid was small, barely large enough for him to stand on. Beyond it, the void stretched in every direction, filled with distant stars and swirling nebulae. He could see the pathways in the distance—the glass-like network that connected the worlds—but they were far away, unreachable.
He was stranded on a rock in the middle of nowhere.
He sighed.
"Great," he muttered. "Just great."
He sat down on the asteroid, his legs dangling over the edge.
He was alone.
Again.