Henry plummeted from the sky, screaming his head off. And it wasn't one of those deep, manly, action-hero screams—no, it was the high-pitched shriek of an eight-year-old girl. He hit the ground without a sound, landing painlessly despite the terrifying drop.
He took in his surroundings: a barren square where a bustling medieval city should have been. Cobblestone roads, weird thatch roofing, some weird smell of urine mixed with stale beer? It reminded him of when he went to a Renaissance fair with Dana—until memories of her betrayal flooded in, sharp and sour, just like the piss beer. The cheating, the smirk on Chance’s face as he took Henry’s spot on the Olympic team... He shook his head, banishing the memories.
A voice cut through his thoughts, calling out from what looked like a movie theater ticket booth. The man behind the glass wore an uncanny uniform resembling a big-name theater chain Henry still despised for denying him a free ticket twelve years ago. He hadn’t forgotten that slight. The attendant stared at him intensely—tall, wiry, with an unnervingly fixed gaze that made Henry’s skin crawl.
“Young man, in the odd attire!” the attendant called, “Please if you would come this way. I, Andrew Pisa, shall guide you to the mighty throne room of the gods!” With a deep bow and a sweeping flourish, he gestured grandly as if this was all the explanation needed.
Henry hesitated. He didn’t feel like dealing with Andrew right now; new people were always the hardest to handle, and he’d bet his last dollar that Andrew was not from his universe—present company excluded, of course, since he counted Carl, but likely he didn't exist anymore. Reluctantly, he made his way over, noticing the bold, shifting letters above the ticket booth: “Ticket Booth to the Throne Room of the Gods.”
“Uh, hi, I’m Henry, a new initiate to the multiverse. I was told I have an appointment with the gods?” Henry muttered uncertainly.
At this, Andrew’s face lit up in a disturbingly bright smile. “Ah, yes! I see the system has already given you some information,” he replied, nodding. “Allow me to clarify. Here, you will receive a blessing from one of the six prime gods—”
A crack of thunder boomed ominously overhead. Andrew winced. “Sorry. Five prime gods,” he corrected with a nervous glance upward. “The sixth has been... estranged since a little ‘scuffle’ four thousand integrations ago.” With a casual shrug, he continued, “Anyway, here is where you’ll choose your class or profession. I’ll then direct you to the gods’ domain, where they’ll invite you to become a prophet of their word or soldier in their domains..”
“Hold up,” Henry cut in, eyeing him skeptically. “First off, I’m no prophet, and I’m not about to become one. And second—what’s the deal? I only get one choice between a class or a profession. Why can't I choose both?”
Andrew’s smile didn’t falter. “A class focuses on combat skills, while a profession hones your craft or production skills. A class might grant some crafting ability, and a profession might include basic combat training, but the paths to power are very different. Smith, the god of the forge, became divine without lifting a weapon against a single monster. On the other hand, Slaughter, the god of carnage, never crafted a thing and just killed people and monsters on his was to godhood: different paths, different powers. If you pick a class, you will still be able to craft, but there is limited system assistance. If you choose a profession, you can fight other beings, but you will not gain as much experience to level up as you would by completing certain crafts or research depending on your profession.”
So I was told that the gods were just people who got strong and then ascended? Whatever that means. Henry asked, a little confused.
Andrew beamed at being able to tell someone something. "Ah yes, gods were just like you and me, children of the multiverse who decided to take what was theirs and reach for power. It brings a tear to my eye to see a young man on his path toward greatness," Andrew mocked, wiping a tear on his cheek, and sniffled.
I'm not that young anymore, man. I'm 28, basically, in a nursing home." Henry shot back, feigning anger and then smiling at Andrew. He seemed like a good guy and more than a little bored with his post. Henry could also tell that there was more than a little sadness behind his eyes, like Andrew was dealing with some heavy shit, and since Henry was the monarch of heavy shit, he decided that maybe Andrew needed someone to talk to. This big place seemed lonely, so it couldn't hurt to have a little chit-chat before going all god of slaughter on the monsters Andrew had discussed.
Henry went on to consider the professional path. It sounded safer—but a voice inside him, cool and certain, echoed: A monarch never kneels. He felt it deep down. His blood ran hot for a challenge, for battle, not for the safety of forging in the background. that was not him and would never be him, Henry loved fighting and competing with others who were strong.
“Alright, Andrew, show me the class options. I’m not much of a crafter,” he said, waving his hand with a smirk. Andrew in front of him gave him a knowing smile as if he already knew this somehow and made a weird gesture with his hand that Henry could have sworn he saw in a 90's rap video.
A glowing dropdown menu appeared in front of him, revealing his options.
----------------------------------------
Class Selection Available:
Unarmed Brawler
Common
Fight your enemies up close; beat them to a pulp with sheer strength—proficiencies: fists, gauntlets, and heavy gloves.
+3 Strength per level, +2 Dexterity per level, +5 free points.
Henry smirked. It's not bad... but too basic for his taste. He liked weapons, and while a good fistfight was fun, it wasn’t his style. Weapons were Henry's favorite, and he would love to fight with a sword.
Sorcerer
Common
Unleash devastating magic; leave foes burned, frozen, or crushed depending on your magical focus—proficiencies: wands, staves, arcane focuses.
+3 Wisdom per level, +3 Intelligence per level, +5 free points per level.
Oh, how he wanted to pick Sorcerer. Who didn’t want to throw fireballs or freeze enemies in their tracks? But something felt off—he’d spent countless hours wielding a sword. Magic might be fun, but it wasn’t him. Maybe something like a spell sword is available? Magic and swordplay make Henry a happy boy.
“Next!” he muttered. Please let there be something with swords.
Warrior
Common ( Will be upgraded due to prior experience)
Stand at the frontline, dealing or absorbing damage. Proficiencies: one-handed, two-handed, blunt weapons.
+3 Strength per level, +3 Vigor per level, +5 free points.
The fourth class, Assassin, focused on backstabbing and stealth. Henry scrolled past it instantly. Sneaking around didn’t interest him; he wanted direct combat, a head-on fight to test his skill.
He hovered over the Warrior. The voice in his mind murmured approvingly, “A monarch needs strength to protect.” Henry shivered but smirked. “Creepy voice in my head, but I like that sound of that.”
He selected Warrior. A rush of power flooded him like he’d found a piece of himself he never knew was missing. A system message appeared and it read:
Class upgrade available. Upgrade now? Y/N
Henry shrugged and hit Yes. But as the upgrade began, he screamed. Pain tore through him, twisting and molding something fundamental inside him. When the pain subsided he was disappointed to see the next system message.
Swordsman uncommon
You and your blade are one entity. You have used a blade all your life, either for combat or for sport. Now, you will feel the true connection and advance together.
+5 vigor per level +5 strength per level +10 Free points per level
That's it? Uncommon? That was just a better version of common rarity! All those hours of technique practice, all those workout sessions for just a better fucking common rarity class? No fuck that, I'm better than that.
I am a monarch, and I am better than that!
Henry felt the pain come back but this time he didn't struggle or care, he let his true inner self come out. The monarch is in class upgrade, and he will see you now! Henry laughed as his class shot through the ranks, Uncommon to rare, rare to epic, epic to divine, then on to transcendent, otherworldly, then unique. Holy shit, this system had a lot of ranks, free information was always good, though, and Henry loved every second of it. The old world was so dull, Henry had never lost a fight in his life whether is was sporting or a regular scuffle it didn't matter. The only person who could keep up with him was Chance, and he laughed at the thought, I hope he survives the integration, Henry thought to himself. I want to fuck him up properly this time; no laws or coaches could stop him now.
Swordsman (uncommon) upgraded to Storm Caller Swordsman (unique)
then another system message came in at the end of his upgrades, and he could feel a dam inside of him about to burst open. Like his bloodline was about to pop from pressure.
???? Bloodline upgrade???? Found?? Initiating Upgrade NOW
Henry had no choice in the matter as his sight went black and calm nothingness met him.
The world around Henry warped, bending and twisting like ink spilling through water, pulling him away from Andrew’s ticket stand and out into a vast, dark unknown. For a second, he felt weightless, falling through endless black, and then—slam—he was there, hovering over a planet completely unlike his own.
Above the expanse, an eternal storm raged, a churning mass of dark clouds and electric fury that swallowed the entire world. Towering thunderheads pulsed with veins of white-hot lightning, throwing harsh flashes across the roiling ocean of storm below. The sky was alive, vibrating with raw power, and as Henry drew closer, the wind howled around him, cutting through the thick atmosphere with a force that felt sharp enough to slice through the skin. He hovered just above the ground when he saw her—a figure that flickered between forms as if she were too vast, too powerful to be held by a single shape. One moment, she looked human, her form draped in flowing robes of storm clouds. The next, her face elongated, insect-like, with a gleaming carapace. She shimmered again and transformed, taking on the shape of a dragon, her scales glistening like storm-forged metal, lightning sparking from her mouth as she roared. Then she was smoke, twisting and billowing, then a flicker of shadow, and then back to a humanoid figure, her eyes glowing with an unearthly light.
She fixed Henry with a gaze as fierce as the storm around them. “Who dares intrude upon the domain of Gerend the Storm caller?” Her voice was a roar that thundered through his bones, echoing over the endless dark clouds and pouring rain, fierce enough to make his heartbeat rapidly. “Prepare to be swallowed by my endless storm!”
The storm surged at her command, and with a sweep of her hand, a tidal wave of rain, clouds, and lightning crashed toward Henry. For one terrifying second, he thought he was going to be ripped apart by the force, obliterated into nothing. But then, deep inside him, something stirred—a spark that burned hotter than the lightning flashing around him. His bloodline awoke, and as the storm collided with him, it no longer felt like a force of destruction but something alive and curious, curling around him, weaving between his fingers, dancing across his skin like a playful breeze. The gale that had threatened to tear him to shreds now seemed almost… affectionate.
“Hey there,” he murmured, almost laughing as he reached out to pet the roiling storm cloud. “You’re a nice storm, aren’t you?” He spoke to it like an animal he’d coaxed into calmness, scratching the cloud like a loyal pet. Across from him, Gerund’s expression shifted from shock to curiosity, and for a moment, she looked almost vulnerable.
“How… how are you doing that?” she demanded, though her voice had lost some of its bite. “I am the master of the storm! No other can control it as I do!” She was searching him now, her fierce eyes narrowing, taking him in with a mixture of confusion and something else—respect.
He met her gaze, feeling a surge of something primal, a boldness unlike him. “I’m Henry King,” he said, his voice growing stronger. “New initiate to the system—but I’m also the true Monarch of Storm and Lightning.” For a moment, she was silent. Then, with a barely perceptible nod, she spoke again, her voice softer, almost reverent. “So, this old storm is no longer alone… It has been millennia since anyone could enter this realm without being destroyed.” She paused, and Henry sensed a hint of sadness in her towering form for the first time. “You are the first to survive my trial in an amount of time almost as long as the system itself, and I congratulate you, young monarch.”
“There were others?” he asked, the words tumbling out. “Like me?” Henry was confused, as his bloodline was said to be unique and never before seen in the multiverse, but what did he really know? He'd been part of the multiverse for about two hours, so there were bound to be some lapses in his knowledge.
She shook her head, her form flickering again, scales rippling into a sea of mist. “No… not like you. They came, yes, but they were not worthy. They tried to bend the storm to their will, to harness it for their petty ambitions.” She sneered, her voice rumbling low with distaste. “But you—you embrace the storm as an equal. You see its fury, yet you do not seek to chain it. You are… different.”
The air around them vibrated with a new intensity as if the storm was listening. Gerund reached out, placing a massive hand on his shoulder, and he felt a surge of power course through him, sharp and wild like lightning coursing through his veins.
“This vision will not last, young monarch,” she said, her voice gentler now. “But remember this: True Monarch Henry King, the Endless Storm welcomes you as its own. Wherever you walk, let rain and lightning consume all who defy your will.”
“Will we… meet again?” he asked, almost surprised by the hope in his own voice. Despite the danger, he felt connected to her, to this place—like he’d found a piece of himself here. He could tell Gerend was a kindred spirit as the endless storm was not something that chose its users unwisely; how he knew that, he had no idea.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
Gerend paused, a flicker of warmth crossing her face. “Aye, young one. Trust in the endless storm, and we will meet again. This, I promise.” And with that, her form began to fade, the vision fracturing around him. But her hand remained on his shoulder, grounding as everything dissolved. The world snapped back into focus, and Henry once again stood in front of Andrew’s ticket booth. But he knew he wasn’t the same. He felt the storm thrumming inside him, alive and fierce, a part of him now.
A system message appeared before his eyes, though he barely needed to read it. Henry could feel it, and as torrential rain began to pour down into the enclosed city of the waiting room of the gods, he felt more at peace than ever before in the pre-system. The rain hugged him like an old friend who hadn't seen you in years did, and it just felt right.
**Bloodline ability unlocked: Monarch of Storm and Lightning.**
Bloodline ability Monarch of storm and lightning, you harbor a deep connection to the endless storm, due to your frenzied life of fighting, deep emotions, betrayal and hunger for battle you are the true monarch of the endless storm. You have innate control of the endless storm and are linked to it indefinitely; this link can be felt anywhere in the multiverse or outside of it and can never be severed. You draw your power from the endless storm, strengthening yourself and your skills. A never ending storm will follow you wherever you go on your path; no matter where you go, rain and lightning will follow.
+25 all stats +15% all stats
May your reign be as never-ending as the endless storm
******
Andrew, pious as he was and a true follower of all the gods, mostly all the gods, besides War and his followers, was the master of the ticket booth for their domain, and he hated himself every second he was there. He had seen the best the multiverse could offer, making him crave his freedom, but his actions wouldn't allow it. He had done something terrible a thousand years ago; this was his penance. This was his third integration; he was only C-grade but blessed by a god who had ascended with the aspect of time, granting him an unusual lifespan. Though some called him weak, this was his chosen path: welcoming newcomers to the multiverse with open arms. Technically a noncombat crafter, Andrew had been in countless fights. His path was one of creation and destruction, bending time to his will. None at his rank were unaware of the "Time Wizard" who’d killed ten battalions of the War host Legion with a common rarity skill that had shot up in rank as he was casting it: Advanced Time Dilation (EPIC). Even a thousand years later, he caught flak for it, especially from War. But War wouldn’t act, not with Alto Clockman, leader of the Clock Pantheon and lord of time, as Andrew's master. Andrew did not regret his actions per se. The legion were bad people, war criminals who were selfish and rude, but he didn't want Lord Clockman, his master, to be punished for his actions, so he chose to do this after meeting Judge, arbitrator of the gods. She had suggested this action as not only a way to denote his willingness to prove himself back to the prime evil pantheons but as a way to penance himself. As much as Andrew didn't think that his actions were terrible, this act was still his first kill, and it was a massacre of ten thousand Crusaders dead with one spell. All the levels and skill rarity he received affirmed him, but he still felt wrong.
Andrew’s thoughts were interrupted by a familiar, almost forgotten sound: rain. Strange, he thought, glancing up. The rain was impossible in this mock town in a cavern—unless willed by a god, which no one besides the Endless Storm could manage. Those blessed by the Endless Storm were rare and powerful figures in the multiverse. There hadn’t been one since the Sixth Integration; they were all hunted down or perished, unable to reach godhood. After the storm caller, no one received a blessing, and the endless storm had been quiet for millennia, but this rain felt... ominous and foreboding. Andrew looked at the one called Henry in front of him, this will no doubt he interesting he thought to himself, mentally preparing for the interaction.
Henry's senses sharpened as the human before he blinked out of a system-invoked vision, and the rain became a torrent. Lightning struck buildings; thunder boomed. Even though countless inductees were entering the multiverse at this very moment, Andrew felt his blood stir. This man before him was destined to become a true monster—he could feel it. As black clouds coiled around Henry, Andrew smiled, thinking only one thing: I want to fight him when he reaches C-grade.
----------------------------------------
Henry felt the thrum in his heart as the storm unleashed havoc upon the city. This power—it was his. He took a deep breath, and the storm calmed, leaving a gentle rain in its place.
"Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to wreck part of the city—just wanted to try out a new power," Henry said, rubbing his neck, looking a bit embarrassed, like a kid with a new toy.
"Don’t worry about it, Monarch. This is an instance; it’ll repair itself once you leave. This induction is yours to do with as you wish," Andrew replied with a knowing smirk.
Henry raised an eyebrow. "You know I’m a Monarch?" His side-eye could have killed. How did everyone know about him? Gerend he understood, and maybe Carl, but this random guy named Andrew?
"It’s hard to hide from someone a lot stronger than you, my boy. I am a peak C-grade, after all," Andrew said, releasing his aura. He usually kept it dampened for newcomers, but he suspected Henry didn’t need the coddling.
Henry felt the man’s strength—a different power, not threatening like Gerend’s, but layered with years, age, and the passing of time.
"Whoa, a time wizard? That’s pretty badass," Henry said, nearly laughing.
Andrew shrugged. "It has its perks. I have a few questions for you if you don’t mind."
"Shoot. You showed your cards; only fair I show mine," Henry replied casually.
"Are you blessed by the Endless Storm? This rain—it’s not natural, and if I can’t summon it, it must be coming from you."
Henry laughed. "And here I thought Batman was the detective. Yeah, it’s from me. I’m not exactly ‘blessed,’ but I have… some pull."
The sky rumbled above, and Andrew glanced up, looking irritated. "The gods want you to go to them," he said with a shrug. "Looks like our time is up."
"We can talk as long as you want, Andrew. I’m in no rush," Henry replied, unconcerned. "Not every day I get to talk to a C-grade. I assume there’ll be none on my planet for a few years yet."
"The gods wouldn’t like it if I kept you," Andrew said more gravely. "I’m on punishment detail."
"For what?" Henry asked, curious.
"Well, about a thousand years ago, I kind of… wiped out half a planet’s worth of Legion crusaders. They were killing, enslaving, and violating half the population of my world. And I, uh… put a stop to it in a way most non-combat classes wouldn’t—I killed them." Andrew looked slightly abashed.
Henry shrugged. "Sounds like they had it coming. Three things I don’t like: cheaters, kid touchers, and rapists. If you deemed it necessary and had the power to stop them, why wouldn’t you?"
Andrew looked at Henry with surprise and a hint of respect. "You know, most newcomers think differently. Sentient life is sacred to them, and killing’s always ‘wrong.’"
"Not when they’re that far gone," Henry replied, a grim look in his eye. "You put down the truly awful. Not everyone deserves death, but some do. That’s just the way it is."
Andrew regarded Henry with admiration. "You know, you’d fit in with the Clock Pantheon quite well—if you ever decide to be a time-wielding swordsman who likes the rain."
Henry cocked his head. "Clock Pantheon? What’s that?"
Andrew blinked, realizing his mistake. "Oh, sorry. A group of gods and their followers who study and use time magic. I forgot you’re new since you’re handling all this naturally."
The air above rumbled again, and Henry looked up, shouting, "I’m talking to a new friend, damn it!" He flipped a middle finger to the sky.
"Uh, Henry, pissing off gods is not a good idea, especially when they are Prime gods like the ones waiting on you," Andrew said, sounding more than a little worried.
Whys that? Henry asked, not caring. Henry wasn't a tourist attraction, but he thoroughly enjoyed his conversation with Andrew, who he deemed a nice bloke.
A blinding white light appeared, and a man in golden armor with an oppressive aura approached—likely on par with Gerend’s, if not stronger.
"That's why," Andrew said, flatly covering his eyes as if expecting this to happen.
"The gods do not take kindly to being ignored for a conversation with a mere C-grade," the man said coldly. "Come with me now, and this slight will be overlooked." A man, no a god said while standing about nine feet tall, towering above the two regular humans. He wore a helmet like a Spartan war helm, with long black hair billowing from beneath it. His spear radiated a power that made Henry’s blood run cold. The new arrivals whole body was covered in thick golden armor, the only parts visible were his golden eyes and the fury in them for being disrespected.
Henry frowned. "Sorry, did I miss something? And who the hell are you?" Henry hated people like this guy, he could already tell he was the type to throw his weight around probably somebody's son acting like they meant something to someone, but to Henry who knew almost nothing it didn't mean shit.
Andrew whispered urgently, "Henry, that’s Legion, god of armies and a prominent member of the War host—the war pantheon. He’s the son of War, one of the prime gods. I’d advise you to go with him." Bowing to Legion, he said, "My apologies, Lord Legion."
Henry grabbed Andrew by the arm, pulling him upright. "Don’t bow to him. Not worth it." Henry said, growling at Andrew. "You're with me and friends of a monarch. Don't kneel to those lesser than them," Henry said, looking Andrew in the eye.
Legion’s face twisted in anger, "did i not teach you respect the first time?" legion said this barring his teeth in a growl and in a flash, he was at Andrew’s side, ready to strike. But before he could, his hand was caught by an old man who’d appeared out of nowhere, just like Legion himself. Legion’s arm withered as the aura of the newcomer—a being more powerful than anyone Henry had ever seen—radiated in waves.
"You dare act against the War host, old man?" Legion sneered, clutching his now-aged arm. "How dare you lay hands on the son of a prime god?"
The old man chuckled. "I’m simply educating War’s son in respect," he said. "Andrew here already taught you what happens when you mess with the Clock Pantheon, didn’t he? Didn't the sons and daughters of the so-called true warriors beg and scream for their lives when faced with someone stronger than them?:
Andrew gave a wry smile. "Oh, they begged and screamed. All right, Lord Clockman."
With that, Legion disappeared, clearly outmatched. Henry doubted that would be the last time he ever interacted with the god of armies, but that was okay; he wasn't opposed to making a few enemies with pricks like that.
Clockman turned to Andrew, grasping his face. "It’s been too long, my boy. Your self-imposed exile has tortured this old master’s heart." He pulled Andrew into a hug, grinning. And you’ve made a friend, too!" Clockman said all this while grasping the boy's face in a death grip and holding Andrew tighter and stronger than any machine press Henry had ever seen, and the sight made him smile.
Andrew, thoroughly embarrassed, introduced them. "Lord Clockman, this is Henry—connected to the Endless Storm and a Monarch to boot."
Clockman, refusing to let Andrew escape his hold, reached out for a handshake with Henry. "A pleasure to meet you, young man. Anyone who stands up to the war host is worthy of a handshake from this old man."
Henry chuckled. "Good to meet you too. I’ve got infinite respect for anyone who stands up to bullies like that fuck stick back there."
Clockman’s eyes narrowed. "You remind me of someone," he murmured, "but I can’t quite recall who… Ah, no matter!"
The air rumbled, and Clockman chuckled. "Andrew, give this young man his ticket to the throne room. The Mother of creation is practically begging for his entry. As for you, Henry, I’d bless you myself, but I sense you’re not inclined toward time magic?"
Henry laughed. "Not today. My path has more to do with storms, but maybe one day I’ll visit the Clock Pantheon."
Andrew handed Henry the ticket. "My last inductee," he said almost sadly.
"Your last one?" Henry asked, surprised. "Did I get you fired?" genuinely worried that he had caused problems for someone he would like to call his friend, Henry didn't have many of those so it seemed important to not upset potential ones too much.
"No," Andrew said confidently. "I’m voluntarily ending my exile. I’ve been ready for it to end for a long time." Andrew looked so sad and a little broken, even Henry lord of all broken people and fucked up circumstances had to act and Andrew seemed like a good enough guy so he decided to give him a piece of his mind.
Henry stepped closer, placing his hands firmly on Andrew's shoulders, forcing him to meet his gaze. “You’re not a murderer, Andrew,” he said, his voice low but unwavering. “They tore into your world, your family—anyone would have done the same. If you hadn’t acted, millions more would have suffered the same fate.”
As they locked eyes, Henry felt a strange pull—a vision, deep and raw, unfolding in Andrew’s eyes as if a movie reel were winding out from his memories. He saw the young man Andrew had been, a newly-minted D-grade, his eyes still alight with ambition, focused on his future as a Time Researcher. Fresh out of his studies at the Clockman Academy of Time Science, he’d returned to his home world for a brief visit, eager to see his family.
But the village he’d once called home was gone, only charred rubble and blackened earth in its place. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant cries of a few scattered survivors. The sight had cleaved him, left him gasping as he stumbled through the ashes, searching for a trace of those he loved. All he found was ruin—and the unmistakable tracks of the Legion, their path of carnage stretching across the planet.
Blinded by fury and heartbreak, Andrew had set out on a desperate hunt, following the Legion’s destruction from one shattered town to the next. His anger grew, a cold fire that roared hotter with each step. At last, he found them encircling a walled city where refugees—his people—had gathered, a fragile sanctuary about to be shattered. He could hear the Legion soldiers laughing as they prepared to storm the walls, their leaders discussing in unfeeling tones which captives would make the strongest slaves, which the most entertainment in the pits. The glint of bloodlust in their eyes matched the blood still drying on their weapons.
In that moment, Andrew had felt something inside him break. He abandoned all restraint, pouring every ounce of his knowledge into a single, brutal spell—a feat of chronomancy he’d once thought impossible. Channeling all his power, he created a subdimension around the entire camp, trapping every Legion soldier within it. With a fury that defied the gods, he accelerated time to a deadly velocity, watching as those who had butchered his people aged rapidly before his eyes. Skin weathered and shriveled, bones cracked, life faded to dust in minutes.
When the spell ended, only a desolate silence remained in the subdimension. But the weight of what he’d done, of the lives he’d taken—even lives that deserved their end—pressed down on him, relentless and unforgiving.
The memory shifted, and Henry saw Andrew, hollow-eyed and broken, exiled by his fellows. His peers had not rallied around him. Instead, they’d scorned him, ridiculed him for overstepping, calling him a killer who’d “gone too far.” Not one but Clockman had stood by him; the others had turned their backs, indifferent to his pain.
Henry’s grip on Andrew’s shoulders tightened when the vision faded, steady and grounding. “You did what you had to do,” he said, his voice fierce. “You saved your people. And if no one else had the guts to stand by you, that’s on them—not you.”
Andrew looked back at him, eyes glassy but fierce, the pain of his past still etched in their depths. For the first time, he saw someone who didn’t flinch, didn’t look away, but who met his guilt and grief head-on.
“Thank you,” Andrew whispered, the words barely more than a breath but weighted with years of loneliness and regret.
Henry’s mouth curved into a slight smile, a nod of understanding between them. “Anytime, Andrew. I’ve got your back.”
They locked eyes for a moment, understanding passing between them. Finally, Henry stuck out his hand. "We’ll meet again someday, right?"
"Count on it," Andrew replied, smiling.
Henry smirked, patting his sword. "Next time, we spar. I want to see if I can cut through your time bubble."
Andrew laughed, feeling a weight lift from him.
“Of course, Henry,” Andrew shot back, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I’ll happily bring you down a peg or two.”
“Alright, alright. Now, I’ve got a date with some gods. Ticket, please,” Henry said, extending his hand with a playful grin.
With a dramatic bow, Andrew placed the ticket into Henry’s hand. “Thank you, Monarch Henry,” he intoned, his face full of mock-seriousness.
Henry rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Cut that out, will you? I’m not about to let my first non-earthling friend start calling me ‘Lord Henry, King of...whatever.’” Laughing, he activated the ticket, gave a casual wave to Andrew and Clockman, and vanished.
Andrew smiled, an earnest grin lingering as he stared at the empty spot where Henry had disappeared. His first real friend in a millennium... The warmth of the thought took him by surprise, and he let it sit for a moment, drifting in the memory. But his reverie was broken by an unexpected, rare sound—a quiet gasp from his master, Clockman.
“Master?” Andrew asked, turning. The sight that met him stilled his heart. Lord Clockman, his steadfast, powerful mentor, was...sweating. His gaze was locked onto the spot where Henry had been, his expression one of unguarded distress.
“That boy, Henry,” Clockman said, his voice low, shaky, grasping Andrew’s shoulders in an uncharacteristically tight hold. “Never act against him.”
“Why, Master? He’s my friend—I’d never want to hurt him.”
Clockman’s grip remained firm, his gaze grave. “He is...something the multiverse hasn’t seen in eons. It's a rare breed. An endangered species, if you will.” He paused, meeting Andrew’s eyes. “He is the last son of Lord Chaos—the Sixth Prime God.”
Andrew’s mind spun, the words barely settling. “But... Master, the Chaos born died four thousand Integrations ago! That’s...nearly half a trillion years! This has to be a joke,” he said, even as he sensed the truth in Clockman’s eyes.
Clockman nodded slowly. “I once thought the same, Andrew. But now I’m certain. I remember Mother’s story about Lord Chaos’s first son, how he sent his wife and unborn child to the far reaches, beyond the System’s reach. They must have gone so far into the unintegrated space that the System lost them entirely. And now...somehow, he has returned, carrying both human blood and the legacy of Chaos. The true last of his kind. I thought it was just a rumor or a fairy tale that the Mother of Creation told just to placate Lord Chaos, but now I know it is not a lie but a genuine truth.”
Realization dawned in Andrew’s eyes as he recalled Clockman’s reluctance to speak of the Chaos-born massacre when he had aided War, Hatred, and Father in eradicating the children of Lord Chaos. It was a decision that had haunted him ever since—a betrayal of his friend, Lord Chaos. Clockman had always refused to go into detail, but Andrew knew the pain he carried, a scar that had only deepened over the millennia.
Clockman’s grip finally released, his hands trembling. “I won’t make the same mistake again. I was weak at the beginning of the crusade, but now, I have the strength to choose,” he said, his voice breaking. I’ll go to Lord Chaos myself and beg for forgiveness. I’ve been a coward for too long.” His voice rose to a shout, and the fabric of the instance around them began to tremble, fraying at the edges.
“But first, I’m taking you back to the Academy. You’ve got plenty of lessons to catch up on, little Andrew,” Clockman added, his tone softening as he looked at Andrew with his patented gentle fondness.
“Yes, Master,” Andrew said, rolling his eyes in exaggerated protest. “Back to the books…”
With that, they both vanished, the instance collapsing into the void of space, leaving Andrew’s old pain—and a new friend—forever behind.