Theron's boots sank slightly into the sand as he eyed the still-silent manikins.
"Oh," he said, lips curling into a grin, "you want a fight."
None of the manikins moved. Michael remained still, hands at his sides, eyes closed.
He didn't need to respond. He never did.
Theron's grin faded.
Without warning, he snapped his hand sideways toward Elias's face—a strike that could end the dream entirely. Elias barely had time to flinch.
But the sand responded faster.
It surged upward, spiraling around Elias like a small cyclone before compacting and forming a manikin, its arms outstretched. It caught Theron's hand mid-swing, locking it in place with inhuman strength.
A voice—ancient and thunderous—rippled from nowhere and everywhere:
"Leave the boy, or face consequences."
Theron stared at the manikin holding him, then smiled cruelly. "You're still clinging to that voice of warning, Michael. Still trying to play guardian of the fragile."
He clenched his fist.
The manikin aged instantly.
Its smooth surface cracked and blackened. Rust bloomed like fungus. Its fingers withered and crumbled to sand, the rest of its body collapsing with a hollow sigh of time undone.
Theron dusted his hand and stepped forward, eyes fixed on Elias, but his words were for Michael.
"You may have beaten me last time," he said, voice colder now, stripped of arrogance. "But that was then. I've grown."
He turned fully to face Michael now.
"All things fade," he said. "Even dreams. Even you."
His eyes, once playful, were devoid of light now.
"Time consumes all."
The sky above cracked faintly, like a mirror struck at its edge. Michael finally opened his eyes—pale gold, burning not with anger, but warning.
Elias stepped back, caught between gods of unimaginable power, barely understanding the weight he now carried.
Then the manikins began to move again.
Not twitching—marching.
Theron's voice rang out like iron:
"So be it."
He turned with godlike speed, aiming a devastating strike at Elias—but the sand beneath Elias's feet opened up, swallowing him whole just as the blow would have landed.
In the blink of an eye, Elias rose out of the sand, now standing beside Michael.
Theron growled and snapped his fingers.
The bright, modern beach dissolved into a grim, rusted wasteland. The sun dimmed. The sand turned black and wet, littered with broken beach chairs and decayed umbrellas. The scent of rot rolled off the water like a tide of time itself.
Another snap.
The sea boiled.
From its depths emerged a colossal turtle, its ancient shell engraved with gears and dials. A clock face sat embedded in its back, its hour hand ticking forward with an audible click.
Then Theron charged the manikins.
He tore through them barehanded, moving with brutal precision. Every punch shattered one. Every step cracked the ground beneath him. Elias stood frozen—his mind still raw from years of unconsciousness, watching gods wage war with no room for mortals to understand.
Suddenly, the turtle's hour hand clicked again.
Every manikin on the field crumbled to dust.
Elias gasped. "What… what is this?"
Michael raised a hand, unshaken. The earth rumbled. A tower of sand surged upward, twisting into a massive manikin, far larger than the rest. Strings unraveled from its limbs, snaking through the air until they attached themselves to Michael's fingers.
Michael turned to Elias.
"Don't worry. We'll talk later… about all of this."
Theron began to laugh.
It wasn't just mockery—it was chilling, each laugh colder than the last. Elias's heart pounded.
"You think there's going to be a later?"
Another snap.
The turtle emerged from the ocean, dragging itself onto the sand, eyes glowing with clockwork energy. It charged the giant manikin.
The manikin responded instantly—its arm shaped itself into a spear, which it hurled with deadly force. The spear struck the turtle, but Michael moved his fingers, and the sand beneath the turtle spiked upward, impaling it.
The turtle stilled.
Dead.
The giant manikin then rushed Theron, raining blows like boulders. But the God of Time was too fast—dodging every attack, slipping through the gaps like flowing sand.
He planted his hand on the giant manikin's chest.
"These useless toys…" he sneered.
With a surge of time, the massive construct crumbled to dust in an instant.
Theron smiled. Victory. Control. Silence.
Then—
Click.
The turtle's hour hand moved again.
And the turtle rose.
Alive.
Michael scoffed quietly, as if expecting this all along. He turned to Elias.
"We'll meet again."
He flicked his finger, and Elias flew backward—
—into the void—
—and then—