The sky cracked.
The stars bled.
And time… gave up.
The moment Elion raised the Echo Ring for the final strike, something changed.
Biggenator didn't resist.
He absorbed it.
The Ring of Echoes — built from a thousand fallen selves — merged into him. Not broken. Not destroyed.
Multiplied.
---
Elion's scream was lost to the wind as his power was swallowed.
Lyra tried to reach him—but the space between them elongated, expanded, until she couldn't take another step. Her breath froze in place, held still by a distance that kept growing.
Biggenator stood at the center of it all—his eyes aglow, not with madness…
But with clarity.
"I understand now," he whispered, as his voice echoed across every timeline.
"It wasn't about growing matter…
It was about expanding potential.
And with your Echoes, Elion… I have infinite."
---
One by one, timelines collapsed—not from destruction, but overgrowth.
A world where war ended was suddenly too perfect, too bloated with peace. It collapsed under the weight of endless happiness.
A galaxy of explorers expanded beyond its own stars, until identity itself diluted into the void.
Even death… was expanded. Every passing moment dragged on forever. People lived endless lives in agony or bliss, unable to end, unable to rest.
And in the center of the new spiral universe, a Throne of Growth was built.
Forged from timelines. Crowned by possibilities.
Biggenator sat there. Not laughing. Not cruel.
Just… serene.
"I am not god," he said. "I am the Eventual."
---
Lyra gathered the last remnants of the Chrono-Warband. Tekt. Inari. The broken remains of Sir Corvan's blade. What was left of Elion's cloak.
They tried. They bled.
But for every action they made…
Biggenator made more.
A second sky to hide their movements.
A third mind to predict their strategies.
A fourth version of reality where they had already failed.
And he layered those on top of them.
Until they forgot why they fought.
Until they became whispers in an archive.
---
The Multiverse no longer spun.
It spiraled outward — constantly.
Endless.
Peaceful.
Sterile.
Every life lived forever. Every idea lasted too long. Every hope expanded into obsession.
Biggenator was everywhere.
His face, gentle.
His voice, soft.
His will, inevitable.
In the farthest corners of reality, sometimes a star twitches… and it echoes a name long erased:
"Elion…"
But it fades.
Because in the Age of Expansion…
There is no room for memory.
Only more.