Few were the times when Timeless itself felt powerless. Precious, rare little moments—like rare coins in circulation. And yet, oddly enough, those rare coins seemed to keep piling up ever since I joined Paragon.
I mean, really, who in their right mind volunteers to fight for their life against someone two whole ranks higher? That's like entering a chess tournament against Kasparov because you once beat your grandmother when she forgot how knights move. Bold, yes. Smart? Not so much.
Demons already had centuries of experience on their side, which made them troublesome enough. Add in the fact that we were struggling against someone who wasn't even a combatant… well, that's the kind of irony you don't appreciate until you're choking on it.
Just like any other meta-ability, Timeless could be suppressed by someone ranked higher. No divine exception there. At my current level, sure, I could fight someone one rank above me—impressive, right? But that would be thanks to skill, cunning, maybe a touch of stubborn spite… not raw power.
The demon wasn't faster than me, but it was stronger—so much stronger. Strong enough that one careless mistake could end with me folded in half like yesterday's newspaper.
If Sergeant Rex were here, he'd wag a finger and tell me to train my stamina more often. He always did love that speech. But let's be honest: you can't expect me to outlast something that carves minor canyons into the ground just by twirling strings around, can you? That's like asking a man to jog during an earthquake.
The demon hadn't made any attempts to strike us directly—not yet. He knew the futility of it. An Allen was something you couldn't simply catch, no matter how much you tried. Instead, he tore apart the surroundings, and splitting the ground, shaping the battlefield so I couldn't run toward him. He was clever, I'll give him that.
"If only I could cut through those strings faster somehow…" I muttered, my gaze falling on the chainsaw clutched in the lifeless grip of one of the heretics we'd slain earlier.
"That's it! A chainsaw saber!" I shouted, the idea sparking as I raised my weapon. "Wally—transform the blade into a chainsaw!"
Without hesitation, Wally obeyed. The saber in my hands shifted, its blade collapsing into the hilt before reforming into a snarling, mechanical sword. The chainsaw roared to life, teeth gnashing hungrily as though eager to devour anything in its path.
A massive string whipped toward me, blotting out the light as it descended. This time, instead of dodging, I vaulted onto it, my boots slamming down as I sprinted along its length. Sparks flew as I jammed the chainsaw into the thick cords woven together. The blade screamed and bit deep, but even with all that power, it barely managed to dig into the tightly bound strands.
I activated another corrosion spell. At once, the chainsaw's razor teeth melted with caustic energy, sizzling through the fibers like acid on bone. The strings unraveled under my blade, and I pressed forward, racing toward the demon cocooned inside his fortress of threads.
More strings lashed at me, striking from every angle, trying to swat me away like a fly. I raised my gun in my free hand, firing off precise bursts. Each shot cracked against the tendrils, knocking them aside, buying me precious seconds as I surged forward, speed building with every step.
But again—just like before—before I could get close enough to the demon, another string snagged me and yanked me backward, hurling me toward the ground.
Unlike the normal invisible strings, which I could at least detect with my other senses, these threads were utterly imperceptible. And although they acted purely as a defense mechanism, their speed and their ability to completely suppress Timeless made them maddening to deal with.
"Let me try something," Moriarty suggested as he slipped into control.
The Wisdom Path mana coursing through our vessel shifted, fluid and seamless, into Water Path mana. In an instant, mist coiled around us, rolling across the battlefield like a living veil.
"You really think I can't catch you just because I can't see you?" the demon sneered, laughing at the idea. "You must think me pitiful if you believe such a childish trick will work!"
But then—his defenses snapped to life. Strings lashed out in every direction, slashing through the mist like a swarm of blades. And yet… they struck nothing. Not a single thread found purchase.
"What?" The demon's grin faltered, confusion twisting across his face. "How are you doing this?!"
"As if I'd ever tell you," Moriarty's voice whispered from the fog, a phantom in the demon's ears.
The threads went wild, slicing and clawing at the mist, thrashing in desperation. But still, they found nothing.
"What kind of sorcery is this?!" the demon roared, his defense spiraling into frenzy, slashing blindly at phantoms that weren't there.
"Argh!" The demon roared, slamming his strings into the ground and sweeping them outward in a violent arc. The mist was torn away in an instant—revealing dozens of humanoid figures made of ice, crawling toward him with grotesque, jerking motions.
And there, seated casually upon a floating chair of ice, Moriarty reclined as if the battlefield were his parlor. A glass sculpted from frost rested in his hand, filled with crimson wine that caught the dim light. He sipped leisurely, eyes never leaving the demon.
"Whoops," Moriarty said with a sly grin, just as a massive string came crashing down on him. He flicked his wrist, and time bent—his body slipping effortlessly out of its path.
But before the demon could retaliate further, the crawling ice-clones shattered one by one, exploding into shards that burst outward with chilling force. The freezing backlash raced along the strings themselves, encasing them in jagged frost.
"Found them," Moriarty murmured.
Above the demon, even the hidden defense strings atop his cocoon crystallized, their writhing halted in a coffin of ice.
The ice cocoon shattered, shards scattering like broken glass across the battlefield, revealing the demon within. His left arm was still writhing and knitting itself back together while the sealing wards etched into his right hand glowed faintly, gnawing at his vessel.
The chainsaw saber whirred, its blade poised to sever his neck. For one fleeting heartbeat, victory felt tangible.
Then—black flames erupted from the demon's body, a surge so violent it forced Moriarty to recoil. The searing heat licked at the saber, threatening to consume it.
"…Hellfire," Moriarty growled, narrowing his eyes as the flames writhed dangerously close.
"You lowly little mortal…" the demon spat, his voice trembling with fury as black fire surged higher, feeding on his vessel like a living inferno. His eyes glowed like furnaces, and his words cut through the smoke. "Even if you are an Allen, you should have known your limits."
The flames raced along the once-frozen strings, devouring the frost, turning every thread into burning whips of molten shadow. The battlefield warped with heat, the air itself shuddering as the infernal blaze spread.
"If you had simply obeyed—become a demon—I might have spared you the worst of it!" he roared, his voice echoing like the tolling of a funeral bell. "But now… now I'll grant you the only mercy Hell knows, agony without end!"
The strings, now serpents of living black fire, snapped outward in every direction, filling the sky as they descended upon Moriarty in a storm of burning death.