The wind howled like a wounded beast.
The Siberian wasteland stretched endlessly — an ocean of white and ice. Temperatures had fallen far below freezing since the gods' arrival. The storms here were unnatural, pulsing with divine interference.
Mohit trudged through the snow, wrapped in a thermal exo-suit salvaged from an abandoned military base. Beside him, ISHA's drone floated, its lens flickering through the blizzard.
"Temperature dropping to minus sixty," ISHA reported. "And the energy reading… it's off the charts. The second Shard is close — beneath the old Norilsk power plant."
Mohit pulled his hood tighter. "And the god guarding it?"
"Designation: Chronas, Keeper of the Tides of Time. One of the Firstborn. Caution: engagement probability of survival—"
"Don't tell me," Mohit interrupted. "Less than one percent?"
"Point-eight," ISHA confirmed.
Mohit grinned. "Then I like my odds."
They reached the remains of the power plant — a frozen fortress of steel and ice. Inside, time felt wrong. The snowflakes hung in the air, unmoving. The air shimmered, as though the world itself was holding its breath.
Then the shadows bent — and a voice, calm and eternal, spoke.
"So… the mortal who killed Raviel arrives. Tell me, Mohit of Earth — do you know what you defy?"
A tall figure emerged from the mist. His armor was made of glass and silver, his eyes glowing with the faint ticking of clocks. Around him, fragments of frozen moments drifted — soldiers locked mid-scream, bullets hanging in the air, even flames halted mid-dance.
"I am Chronas, and time is my dominion. You cannot win against eternity."
Mohit clenched his fists. "Eternity's overrated."
Chronas raised his hand — and suddenly the world fractured. Mohit saw himself standing, then falling, then rising again — all at once. The god had trapped him in temporal loops, twisting seconds into centuries.
"You see?" Chronas whispered. "Every path you take ends in failure."
Mohit dropped to his knees, clutching his head as memories bled into one another. Lives he hadn't lived. Battles he hadn't fought. Futures that died before they began.
But deep inside, the Aether Core flared — a pulse of golden fire slicing through the illusion.
"Time is just another chain," Mohit growled. "And chains can be broken!"
Energy exploded from his chest — a shockwave that shattered the frozen timeline. The loops unraveled, reality snapping back like glass. Mohit charged forward, glowing with divine radiance, his fist meeting Chronas's chest.
For the first time, the god staggered.
"Impossible!" Chronas hissed. "You are rewriting causality!"
"No," Mohit said. "I'm rewriting fate."
He drove his hand through the god's armor, releasing the Core's power in a burst of pure energy. Chronas screamed as his form collapsed into a storm of light and snow.
When the light faded, a crystal shard hovered where the god had stood — pulsating with cold blue light.
Mohit caught it in his palm. Frost raced up his arm, but the Aether Core absorbed it, merging the shard's power into his being. Time itself seemed to pause for a heartbeat.
"Shard Two secured," ISHA said. "Your synchronization is at forty percent."
Mohit looked up at the grey, frozen sky. "That makes two gods down."
ISHA's voice grew softer.
"But each shard you absorb increases your connection to the divine network. They'll feel it, Mohit. The higher gods will come for you now."
He smiled faintly. "Good. Saves me the trouble of finding them."
The snow swirled around him as he walked into the storm once more — a mortal carrying the fire of gods, bound for war against heaven itself.