Kale floated at the center of a battlefield made of sky and shattered time.
All around him, the mountain winds howled. Not from nature—but from distortion.
Hundreds of versions of Smilingdeath stood on air like a swarm of ghosts, each identical. Each grinning. Each holding the same calm expression that no longer looked amused—just inevitable.
A time clone, creating more time clones?
It was ridiculous.
Kale stared, eyes narrowed. "...A clone creating clones?"
He scoffed.
"Absurd."
He took a breath.
Then smiled.
"But it doesn't matter."
Smilingdeath tilted his head.
"Oh? You look a little outnumbered, prince."
Kale's aura flickered once. The crown atop his head shimmered again—green-gold light flaring across the skyline.
"I've already killed one of you," Kale said. "What difference do a few hundred make?"
He raised his sword slightly.
"Extra hands won't save you."
Smilingdeath's voice echoed from every version at once.
"That's… not how math works."
