Preparation complete, Duvan stood at the command center of Future Tech, watching tactical displays update in real-time.

  Seven breach points. Seven simultaneous assaults. The coordination alone was unprecedented.

  The waiting was always the worst part.

  Around him, soldiers checked their equipment with the nervous energy of people about to face the unknown. Veterans and newcomers alike—everyone understood what was at stake.

  Every invasion from the Deep could lead to extinction.

  That wasn't hyperbole. It was historical fact. Humanity had been pushed back again and again over three thousand years. From controlling the entire world to clinging desperately to one percent of it.

  And the creatures kept getting stronger.

  Evolving. Adapting. Learning.

  What will they throw at us this time? Duvan wondered.

  His role was mobile response—accelerate himself to wherever the situation was worst, provide overwhelming force at critical moments. Use his time manipulation to turn impossible fights into merely difficult ones.

  It was exhausting. It was necessary.

  It was what being a Grand Protector meant.

  His communication crystal vibrated.

  "Lord Excy." Vivian's voice was tense. "Southern city. We're getting reports of casualties rising faster than expected. The Anomalies there—they're using abilities similar to yours."

  Duvan's blood ran cold.

  "Similar how?"

  "Time-based. They're... stealing time from people. Draining them. Turning them to ash in seconds."

  No.

  "I'm on my way."

  He didn't wait for acknowledgment. Just activated his Chrono ability and moved.

  The journey should have taken fifteen minutes at normal speed.

  Duvan made it in less than three.

  Time dilated around him, his perception accelerated to superhuman levels while his body moved at velocities that would tear apart anyone without magical enhancement. The world became a blur of color and motion, reality compressing into the singular focus of get there now.

  He arrived at the southern city's breach point and immediately understood why casualties were so high.

  The evacuation was ongoing—civilians streaming toward the inner barriers, soldiers forming defensive lines to buy them time.

  But scattered throughout the battlefield were creatures that made his skin crawl.

  They looked vaguely humanoid. Skeletal. Made of something that wasn't quite matter—like viewing them through warped glass, their forms constantly shifting between states of existence.

  And where they touched people, those people aged.

  Not slowly. Not gradually.

  Instantly.

  Duvan watched a soldier—young, maybe twenty—get grabbed by one of the creatures. In the space of a heartbeat, his skin withered, hair went white, bones became brittle. He collapsed into dust, his scream cut off before it could fully form.

  The creature absorbed something—a shimmer in the air, like heat haze—and moved to its next victim.

  They're eating time, Duvan realized with horror. Literally consuming the time that person had left to live.

  Another soldier tried to engage one with a blade. The weapon passed through the creature harmlessly—it existed in too many temporal states simultaneously for normal weapons to affect it.

  Then the creature touched him, and he was gone.

  Turned to ash. Decades of life stolen in seconds.

  Duvan's hands clenched.

  These things were connected to time. His domain. His specialty.

  Which meant he could fight them.

  He extended his will, channeling Chrono with focused intent. Time itself responded, coalescing in his hands, taking shape.

  A sword. Made entirely of compressed time energy. Not matter, but duration given form.

  It wasn't something he used often—the technique was difficult, draining, and he hadn't reached high mastery with ability construction. He could only manage simple forms.

  But sometimes simple was enough.

  Duvan rushed forward, his time-sword cutting through reality itself.

  The nearest creature turned toward him, its eyeless face somehow tracking his movement.

  His blade connected.

  The creature screamed—a sound that existed in multiple frequencies simultaneously, making reality itself vibrate.

  Then it dissolved, its stolen time dissipating back into the ambient flow.

  Physical contact, Duvan noted, dodging another creature's grasping hand. They need to latch onto their targets to steal time. That's their limitation.

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  It was a fatal limitation for most fighters—getting close enough to strike meant being close enough to be touched. And one touch was death.

  But Duvan could accelerate his perception, could see attacks coming before they landed, could move through frozen moments with practiced precision.

  He cut down another creature. Then another.

  His soldiers rallied, emboldened by seeing the Anomalies could be killed. They formed tighter formations, using reach weapons to keep distance while Duvan eliminated threats.

  We can hold this, Duvan thought. We can—

  Reality rippled.

  Something enormous appeared in the center of the battlefield. Not gradually. Not with warning.

  Just suddenly there.

  A massive creature—easily twenty meters tall—made of the same time distortion as the smaller ones but incomparably more powerful.

  And it didn't need to touch its victims.

  Time simply vanished around it.

  Plants withered and died in spreading waves. Buildings aged centuries in seconds, stone crumbling to dust. And people—

  People screamed as their lives were stolen. Dozens of them. Hundreds.

  Just gone. Turned to ash by proximity alone.

  Duvan felt the pull—his own time being drawn toward the creature like water down a drain.

  He immediately activated his deepest defensive technique: time stasis. Stopping his own time, freezing his body in a state of perfect preservation.

  It was like holding his breath, except with his entire existence. Exhausting. Unsustainable for long.

  But it protected him from the creature's drain.

  "FALL BACK!" he roared at his remaining soldiers. "GET OUT OF RANGE!"

  They ran. Those who could. Those who weren't already ash.

  Duvan's time-sword had dissolved—stolen by the creature's ambient effect. He stood there with only conventional weapons and his ability, facing something that could drain life from distance.

  What made these things come? he thought desperately. There's never been time-based creatures from the Deep. Never in all the recorded invasions. Why now? What changed?

  No time for answers. Only action.

  He pulled out his communication crystal, keeping his time stasis active with one hand while messaging with the other.

  "Vivian. Send Prototype Omega. Special delivery. My coordinates."

  "Sir, that's untested—"

  "NOW!"

  He cut the connection.

  The massive creature was moving toward him—slow, inexorable, reality breaking down in its wake.

  Duvan dodged, using mana to enhance his physical speed when he couldn't spare the concentration for time manipulation. He struck at the creature with conventional weapons—they passed through harmlessly, just like with the smaller ones.

  Of course. Nothing physical works.

  He eliminated the remaining smaller creatures while waiting, buying seconds. Each one took precious concentration, precious energy.

  A minute passed. Felt like hours while maintaining defensive techniques.

  Then—

  CRASH

  A steel container slammed into the battlefield with enough force to crater the ground. It opened automatically, protective seals releasing.

  Inside, mounted on a display rack, was a sword.

  Not fancy. Not ornate. Just perfectly balanced steel with an edge that seemed to cut reality itself just by existing.

  And most importantly: it had grooves along the blade filled with crystallized Chrono energy. His own time manipulation, stored and compressed.

  A prototype weapon they'd been developing for years. Trying to create equipment that could channel Ascender abilities without being tied to the user's active concentration.

  It had never been combat-tested.

  Desperate times.

  Duvan sprinted toward it, the massive creature's drain intensifying as it recognized his intent.

  His hair grayed slightly. His skin tightened. Decades of life pulling away from him.

  But he was fast. So damn fast when he needed to be.

  He grabbed the sword, and immediately felt the resonance—his stored Chrono energy responding to his presence.

  The weapon wouldn't let him create time constructs. Couldn't stop time or rewind it.

  But it could store lingering effects. Could make his strikes carry the weight of time even when the creature tried to negate them.

  Brief windows of vulnerability. Microseconds where his attacks would connect before being negated.

  That's all I need.

  Duvan charged the massive creature, sword raised, his perception accelerated to its absolute limit.

  The world slowed to a crawl around him.

  He could see it now—the way the creature pulled time into itself. The flow of stolen duration feeding its existence.

  And he could see the gaps. The moments between pulls where it had to process what it consumed.

  Tiny windows. Barely long enough to matter.

  But for someone who manipulated time?

  Long enough.

  Back at Duvan's home, Silvia emerged from her private conversation with the mysterious Cyrus looking shaken.

  Whatever had been discussed in that time bubble, it had clearly affected even the ancient elf.

  Hera stood immediately. "What happened? What did she tell you?"

  "Things I needed to know," Silvia said cryptically. "Things I wish I didn't know. We need to leave. Now."

  "But—"

  Before Hera could finish, Cyrus reappeared, her hood still lowered, heterochromatic eyes visible.

  Hera stepped forward, blocking her path.

  "Wait." Her voice was firmer than she felt. "How do you know Duvan? Why do you have his—" She gestured at the gold eye. "Why do you have his eye color?"

  Cyrus paused. For a moment, something like pain crossed her young features.

  "Duvan is someone important to me," she said quietly. "Very important. But you don't need to know how right now. Someday, maybe. But not today."

  "That's not—"

  "Hera." Silvia's hand on her shoulder was gentle but firm. "Let her go. We have our own responsibilities."

  Cyrus gave them both a small nod—respectful, grateful—and then she was gone. Not walking away. Just... gone. As if she'd never been there.

  "She can manipulate time too," Hera whispered. "Just like Duvan. Who is she?"

  "Someone who's trying to help," Silvia said. "In her own way. Now come. We need to reach my people. Duvan asked me to protect you, and that's exactly what I intend to do."

  They left the wrecked home behind, moving toward the elven sanctuary that served as humanity's last line of defense.

  As they walked, Hera couldn't stop thinking about those eyes.

  One blue. One gold.

  Duvan's gold.

  Who are you, Cyrus?

  Across the breach points, the other Grand Protectors had mobilized.

  Lucifer stood at the northern breach, shadows spreading like a living thing around him. His demons—disciplined, organized, nothing like the chaotic entities humans imagined—formed precise defensive lines.

  "Remember," he called out, his voice carrying supernatural weight. "Civilians first. No glory-seeking. No unnecessary risks. We hold until evacuation is complete."

  A massive Voidling charged their position. Lucifer casually gestured, and shadows erupted from the ground, impaling it mid-stride.

  "And try to make it look effortless," he added dryly. "Morale is important."

  Celeste hovered above the eastern breach, golden light radiating from her form like a second sun.

  Her angels moved in perfect synchronization—not individual fighters, but parts of a greater whole. Each one enhancing the others, creating overlapping fields of protection and healing.

  "Maintain the barrier," she commanded, her voice resonating with divine authority. "No creature passes this point. No civilian falls behind."

  Light erupted in devastating waves, purifying Voidlings by the dozen. But it was controlled. Precise. Never wasting energy, never overextending.

  This was what three thousand years of fighting the Deep taught you: efficiency mattered more than power.

  Gawain stood with the Adventurer's Guild at the western breach, his massive frame visible even from distance.

  "Alright, you beautiful bastards!" he roared, his enthusiasm somehow infectious even in dire circumstances. "Time to earn those ridiculous quest rewards! Formation Sigma-Seven! Move!"

  The adventurers—chaotic, undisciplined compared to Lucifer's demons or Celeste's angels—somehow made it work through sheer adaptability.

  Gawain teleported across the battlefield, appearing wherever the line threatened to break, his presence alone enough to shore up morale.

  "THAT'S what I'm talking about!" he laughed as an A-rank adventurer took down a Voidling with perfectly executed teamwork. "See? You don't need to be an Ascender to be a badass!"

  Different approaches. Different armies. Different personalities.

  But united in purpose: hold the line. Protect the innocent. Give humanity another day.

  The Grand Protectors had defended their species for years. Decades, for some of them.

  They would do so again today.

  Even if the enemy was evolving in terrifying new directions.

  Even if time-based creatures that shouldn't exist were appearing.

  Even if the future itself seemed to be shifting under their feet.

  They would hold.

  Because that's what Grand Protectors did.