The ballroom had transformed into a battlefield. Screams rang out. Chairs overturned. The scent of blood and gunpowder mingled with the fading fragrance of expensive perfume. Guests scrambled toward the exits, shoving past one another in their desperate bid to escape. Ethan barely registered the chaos. His world had narrowed—his instincts sharp as a blade. The second shot had been fired. And he had moved. Jasmine was still standing. He wasn’t. Pain lanced through his ribs, burning white-hot. The bullet had hit. Ethan stumbled, his vision blurring for a fraction of a second. His muscles screamed in protest, but he refused to fall. Not now. Not yet. The shooter was still there. Watching. Waiting. Ethan wasn’t about to give him a second chance. The gunman was good—too good. Dressed in a sleek black suit, blending seamlessly into the panicked crowd, he had already begun his retreat. His movements were calculated, precise—a professional. Who sent him? Ethan gritted his teet

The fires of war had quieted, but the smoke still clung to the trees of Crescent Ridge like ghosts that refused to leave. Ethan Hale stood atop the watchtower of the newly reclaimed Hale Fortress, his gaze sweeping over the blackened pines and silver mist below. The wind cut cold across the stone battlements, carrying whispers from the distant city where his name was now legend—or curse, depending on who you asked. The city now knew him. His enemies feared him. But none of that mattered now. He hadn’t returned for the city. He had returned for the few who walked beside him when he was nothing but a ruined name on the edge of a blade. When Jasmine’s family had scorned him. When the boardrooms turned their backs. When betrayal became his only inheritance. Tonight, that debt would be repaid. The Grand Hall of Hale Fortress was reborn. Once stripped of its glory, now it pulsed with warmth and reverence. The massive stone hearth roared with fire. Gold and crimson banners—freshly sewn

The Montclair Gala was the pinnacle of high society—a glittering affair where power brokers, aristocrats, and supernatural dignitaries converged under one opulent roof. The grand ballroom shimmered with chandeliers, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and whispered secrets.Jasmine Sinclair, once the queen of such events, now stood at the periphery, clutching a half-empty glass of vintage wine. Her designer gown, though stunning, couldn't mask the desperation in her eyes. The room's attention was no longer hers.All eyes were on Ethan Hale.He entered with an aura of command, flanked by influential figures from both the corporate world and the arcane realms. His tailored suit exuded power, and the subtle glow of the God Mark on his forearm hinted at his supernatural prowess. Conversations hushed as he passed, replaced by reverent murmurs: "God of War," "CEO Hale," "The Sovereign."Beside him was Amara Devon, heiress to the Devon Consortium. Her laughter at Ethan

Time seemed to freeze. Ethan’s breath caught in his throat as he watched her body spiral down into the abyss between buildings. Magic shimmered, flickered, then vanished. But no blood. No death. Just… disappearance. He didn’t have time to process it. Zane turned toward him, the shadows wrapping tighter around his frame like armor made of nightmares. “You were always the hero,” Zane said, voice like molten steel. “The golden son. The one who inherited the legacy, the estate… the love. But you left me in the dark, Ethan. And the dark raised me.” “You think I left you behind?” Ethan shouted. “You were my brother. I would’ve died for you!” “But you didn’t,” Zane growled. “I died instead.” He raised his hand. The sky turned black. The rooftop groaned as magical conduits across the city began to warp and twist. Towers flickered like glitching lights. The supernatural core—stolen moments ago by Jasmine—flared open again in midair, somehow tethered now to Zane. He had cla

Location: The Fractured Nexus – Between Time and RealityEthan Hale hovered above the crumbling dais, blood dripping from his hands, his aura flickering like a storm barely contained. Jasmine lay at his feet, her body still, the Soul Well now a swirling tempest of ancestral cries and leaking timelines.Across from him, the Sovereign stood in his true form for the first time—no longer a shadowy presence in minds, no longer a parasite in the bloodstream of fate. He was real.And he was terrifying.Taller than any man, his skin was obsidian shot through with crimson lightning. His eyes—voids rimmed with dying stars—pierced into the soul like cold iron through flesh. He wore no crown, for his very presence bent the dimensions around him.“You severed the loop,” the Sovereign said, voice echoing across planes. “Killed the future version of yourself. Rejected destiny.”Ethan didn’t respond. He was too busy holding the fragments of his sanity together.The Sovereign tilted his head.“Do you