PORT HARCOURT — The UNRAVELING COVENANT BUILDING — SAME TIME
Ezra floated upward.
The building had collapsed into chaos — walls drifting past like clouds, furniture orbiting the empty space where the ceiling used to be. Chi Chi hovered a few feet away, arms crossed, enjoying herself. Destiny stood on a floating chunk of concrete, his red glasses catching the light, his white suit somehow still immaculate.
Ezra couldn't maneuver. Every step sent him drifting. Every punch threw him off balance. Chi Chi's Anti-Gravity was constant, silent pressure — not heavy, wrong. Up was down. Down was everywhere.
But he was adapting.
His flail swung lazily at his side, the black chain drinking light. Adaptation. The longer he fought in this environment, the easier it became.
He set his focus on Chi Chi.
If he could erase her contract, the gravity would stop. He moved toward her — not fast, not slow, inevitable.
Then he saw it.
A flash. A future. Himself reaching Chi Chi, his flail touching her — and freezing. Destiny standing behind him, hand on his shoulder. Freeze Frame.
He kept moving anyway.
He couldn't stop. Not yet.
"Freeze Frame."
Destiny's hand touched his shoulder. The world stopped.
Ezra was frozen — not paralyzed, framed. His body locked in place. His eyes still moved. Watching. Waiting. Destiny carried the frame across the floating debris, positioned him over a void, and shattered it.
Ezra crashed down through three floors, concrete and steel breaking his fall. He stood. Shook off the debris. Looked up.
Chi Chi was still hovering. Destiny was still standing.
"Stay away from him," Destiny called to Chi Chi. "His flail touches you, your contract with the Phobia — Pterygophobia, fear of falling — is erased."
Chi Chi laughed.
"He has to touch me first."
Ezra moved.
Not toward Chi Chi. Toward Destiny.
His fist — wrapped in chain, black light pulsing — shot forward.
Destiny dodged. Not after the punch. Before. He saw it coming. He was already leaning.
His hand touched Ezra's shoulder again.
"Freeze—"
Ezra didn't freeze.
His fist caught Destiny in the chest — not hard, just there. Air exploded from Destiny's lungs. He flew backward, caught a piece of debris, steadied himself.
"You adapted," Destiny said. Not a question.
Ezra didn't answer.
Destiny smiled.
"All my life, I've been looking for someone who could defy the future." He adjusted his Red glasses—Foresight—. "Are you that person?"
Ezra moved.
---
They clashed like storm clouds.
Destiny's Foresight—Red glasses— showed him every punch before it was thrown. His body moved with impossible economy — a tilt of the head, a shift of the shoulder, a single step that carried him inches past Ezra's fist. He didn't block. He didn't parry. He was never where Ezra aimed.
Ezra adapted.
His second punch came faster. Destiny dodged. His third came from a blind spot. Destiny leaned. His fourth — a feint, then a hook — forced Destiny to actually move. Not dodge. Move.
"Glimpse," Destiny said.
He saw the next sixty seconds. Every punch. Every kick. Every attempt to close distance.
He stepped left. Ezra's fist passed his ear.
He stepped right. Ezra's knee missed his ribs.
He dropped low. Ezra's elbow swept over his head.
"You're fast," Destiny said. "But speed doesn't matter if I've already seen where you'll be."
Ezra stopped.
Not because he was tired. Because he was watching. Destiny's movements were perfect, but predictable. Everything he did was a reaction to something he'd seen. He never initiated. He never attacked. He just... responded.
"You've never fought someone who could touch you," Ezra said.
"I've fought everyone."
"No." Ezra raised his flail. "You've survived everyone. There's a difference."
Ezra changed his rhythm.
Not faster. Not slower. Irregular. Destiny's Foresight showed him patterns — but Ezra stopped having patterns. One punch came slow. The next came fast. The third feinted, the fourth struck from a different angle, the fifth was a kick that turned into a knee that turned into a headbutt.
Destiny's dodge was a heartbeat late.
Ezra's flail grazed his shoulder. Not a hit. A touch. The black chain drank a thread of Destiny's Red Faith.
Destiny's eyes widened.
"You can't—"
"I already have."
Ezra pressed.
He closed distance — not with speed, with pressure. Every step forward was a statement. Destiny retreated, his Foresight showing him futures where Ezra's fist connected, where the flail wrapped around his throat, where the chain bound his arms. He avoided them all. Narrower each time.
Chi Chi laughed from above.
"He's getting tired, Destiny!"
Ezra looked at her.
For a moment — just a moment — his focus shifted.
Destiny saw it. A future where he struck while Ezra was distracted. A future where his counter landed.
He moved.
Ezra wasn't there.
The flail wrapped around Destiny's ankle. Yanked. Destiny fell. Ezra pulled him across the debris, slammed him into a floating chunk of concrete, and raised his fist.
"Freeze—"
Ezra's fist connected with Destiny's jaw.
Blood sprayed. Destiny flew backward, caught himself on a broken beam, and laughed.
"You didn't freeze."
"I already adapted."
"To Freeze Frame?"
"To you."
Then ChiChi stopped laughing.
She pointed at Ezra. Gravity flipped. He began to rise — not floating, falling upward. She touched a wall. The wall became the floor. Everyone on it fell sideways.
Destiny landed on the new surface, already stable, already expecting it. Ezra crashed into the debris, rolled, and came up swinging.
"Stay down," Chi Chi said.
Ezra kept moving.
She pointed again. He rose. He grabbed a piece of rebar, swung himself toward her, and threw it like a spear. She dodged. It wasn't aimed at her — it was aimed at the wall behind her.
She touched it out of instinct. The wall became the floor. She fell sideways.
Ezra used the momentum to launch himself toward Destiny.
"Thread," Destiny said.
He saw every future within the next sixty seconds. The ones where Ezra caught him. The ones where he dodged. The ones where Chi Chi intervened. He picked the one where Ezra lost.
He moved a single step left.
Ezra's fist passed where Destiny's chest had been. Destiny's palm touched Ezra's arm — not a Freeze Frame, just a tap. He nudged Ezra toward a falling chunk of concrete. Ezra crashed into it, rolled, and kept coming.
"You can't win," Destiny said.
"I don't need to win." Ezra spun his flail. "I just need to reach her."
Chi Chi's smile vanished.
Then Ezra threw his flail.
Not at Destiny. At the debris around Chi Chi. The chain wrapped around a beam, pulled him upward. He swung through the air, black light trailing behind him.
Chi Chi pointed. Gravity flipped. Ezra rose faster — not resisting, using. The momentum carried him toward her.
She touched the ceiling. The ceiling became the floor. She fell sideways, but Ezra had already adapted. He pushed off a falling chair, changed direction mid-air, and reached for her.
"Destiny—"
Destiny moved.
He saw the future. Ezra touching Chi Chi. Her contract erased. The gravity stopping. Everyone falling. He could stop it — a Freeze Frame, a single touch, a moment frozen.
He reached for Ezra's shoulder.
Ezra caught his hand.
The flail — still spinning, still swinging — punched through Chi Chi's stomach.
Not cut. Not sliced. Punched. The spiked head burst through her abdomen, black light eating the contract between her and the Phobia. Guts spilled. Blood sprayed.
Her scream was silent. The anti-gravity stopped.
Everything began to fall.
Two hundred meters up, the debris plummeted. Destiny dodged — his Foresight showed him every falling chunk. He landed on the ground, untouched.
Ezra landed creating a crater with his fall, Chi Chi in his hands.
Her guts spilled from her stomach. Blood rushed from her eyes. She vomited — teeth, blood, something darker.
Ezra dropped her.
She lay on the ground, twitching, dying.
He kicked her across the street. Through a building. Out of sight.
Destiny stood at the edge of the crater. His glasses were cracked. His white suit was torn.
"She didn't deserve a seat at our table," he said. "She sacrificed her Gift for that contract."
Ezra looked at him.
"Let's go one final time."
"It's over."
"Not yet."
Destiny raised his hand. The world froze — not a frame, a Crusade.
"The Unwritten Minute."
Ghostly outlines appeared. Ezra's next sixty seconds, laid out like a script. Every step. Every punch. Every fall.
Ezra looked at Destiny. Not at the outlines. At the man behind them.
He saw — not with Foresight, with understanding — years of holding back. Years of waiting for someone who could defy the future. And joy. Quiet, desperate joy and just this once he let loose and.
Ezra smiled.
Not a grin. Not a sneer. Just... release.
He expanded his own Crusade.
"The Last Word."
The world went grey. Silent. Two domains, same space. Two truths clashing.
Destiny's truth: "The next minute is already written. You are only following the script."
Ezra's truth: "Everything ends. You are not exempt."
The Crusades ground against each other. The ghostly outlines flickered. The grey silence cracked.
Destiny won.
Not by much. By a thread. His truth held. Ezra's shattered.
Both their Gifts dematerialized. The flail vanished. The glasses cracked further then vanished.
Destiny stood, panting, blood dripping from his nose.
"Let's go again," he said. "When our Gifts recover—"
Ezra moved.
No flail. No chain. Just him.
His fist connected with Destiny's jaw.
Destiny flew backward, vomited blood, and crashed into the rubble.
He didn't get up.
AFTER — SOME TIME LATER
Destiny woke up.
The sun was higher. The rubble was still. His red glasses were gone. His Gift was silent.
Ezra was gone.
Not unconscious somewhere else. Just... gone. He had left. No finishing blow. No final words.
Destiny lay there, staring at the sky.
"These Vanguards," he said, touching his jaw. "Really dumb."
He smiled.
"You should have killed me."
He closed his eyes.
The wind blew.