CHAPTER 1244: A MILLION TIMES.

Cain exhaled.

"Another test."

One node shot forward first—a blur of black, slicing the air. Cain dodged sideways, grabbed another passing node, and slammed it into the incoming one. The collision detonated in a burst of light and distortion that felt like static digging into his bones.

Two down.

The rest accelerated.

Cain moved through them, deflecting some, letting others scrape past him without committing force he didn’t need. The nodes weren’t trying to kill him—they were mapping him, gauging his reactions, feeding data back to Nebula’s core.

He couldn’t let Nebula assemble a full profile.

Cain reached out, seized a node by its trajectory, and crushed it with a burst of structural force. The basin floor reacted instantly, glowing in branching patterns as though the realm felt the loss of data.

Another node slammed into his back. Cain staggered, teeth clenched against the spike of pain—not injury, exactly, but destabilization. His anchor field flickered.

Nebula’s distant voice echoed again, still fractured:

"You’re unraveling.

A mortal structure can’t chase a conceptual being across realms."

Cain hurled a node into the ground. "You’re not conceptual. You bleed when I hit you."

"Then keep hitting.

See which of us ceases first."

The final node expanded suddenly, doubling in size, then splitting into six smaller drones that shot outward like shrapnel. Cain narrowed his eyes. Nebula was accelerating the cleanup, rushing the reassembly.

Cain anchored himself, drew in breath, and released a radial shock—an expanding ring of hard-edged force that tore through all six drones at once. Light burst outward, and for a moment, the realm dimmed.

The basin went silent.

Then the floor dropped.

Cain reacted instantly, planting a hand into the collapsing ground and controlling his descent. The basin inverted itself, becoming a funnel that dragged him deeper into the plane.

Fine.

He was done walking.

Cain thrust his weight downward, accelerating the fall, forcing the realm to adapt. The funnel stretched into a vertical corridor, the distortion around him thickening, closing like a throat.

Then—

He hit solid ground.

Not violently—just abruptly. The realm set him down.

Cain straightened.

He was inside a new chamber—this one stable, structured, almost architectural. Pillars rose from an endless floor, each one etched with pulsing channels of silver-blue light that formed a web leading to the center.

At the center floated something that wasn’t Nebula’s echo, but wasn’t a fragment either.

A core.

The largest piece of Nebula so far. A half-formed torso suspended in a cocoon of shifting matter, arms folded across a chest that wasn’t fully material yet. His face reconstructed enough to show eyes—bright, cold, calculating.

Cain stepped forward. "Finally found you."

Nebula opened his eyes fully.

"You’re early."

Cain’s jaw tightened. "And you’re slower at pulling yourself together than I thought."

Nebula didn’t rise. He didn’t need to. The chamber itself responded to him. The pillars leaned inward. The ground tightened, gravity sharpening.

"You’re weakening," Nebula said without inflection. "Each transition between layers tears pieces from you."

Cain didn’t deny it. His body had been flickering more often. Anchors weren’t meant to jump realms like this. But stopping meant letting Nebula consolidate.

Not happening.

Cain lifted his hand. "Your reconstruction ends here."

Nebula’s half-body pulsed with light. The chamber pulsed with him.

"So begins the second collision."

The floor split into radial lines, and gravity inverted in one violent twist. Cain snapped into a grounded stance just in time to avoid being hurled into the ceiling. The pillars tilted, then elongated like spears, thrusting toward him in synchronized attack patterns.

Cain dodged the first. Broke the second with a downward strike. The third, he caught, redirected, and sent back into the chamber wall, cracking the architecture.

Nebula watched silently, analyzing, absorbing every movement.

"Patterns unchanged," Nebula murmured. "Efficiency decreasing."

Cain crushed another pillar-spear against his forearm and snarled, "You want efficiency? Try being punched while half-built."

He surged forward, straight through the shifting gravity field, force-stabilizing each step. Nebula’s cocoon reacted immediately, creating a spiral barrier of compressed space. Cain pushed through the first layer, then the second—the pressure trying to tear him sideways molecule by molecule.

Nebula raised one hand.

The cocoon solidified.

Cain swung.

His fist connected with the barrier and the impact fractured the entire cocoon like glass. Nebula’s core shunted backward, drifting in raw instability.

Cain stepped into the shattered opening.

"Run again," he said. "See how far you get this time."

Nebula’s eyes flickered—not fear, just calculation.

The chamber trembled.

And Nebula dissolved into pure light, scattering into the deep corridors of the realm.

Cain stared after him, steady and silent.

"Keep running. I’m not stopping until you’re dust."

The realm shook in acknowledgment—or warning. Hard to tell.

Cain moved forward anyway.

Cain woke to the scrape of stone shifting overhead. For a breath he thought it was another quake—another reminder that the Fallen’s war was reshaping the continent—but then the rhythm clicked into place. Controlled. Intentional. Someone was digging him out.

Light speared through a crack in the collapsed corridor. Dust floated like drifting ash. Cain forced himself upright, ribs screaming from the blast that had dropped the whole wing of the sanctuary on top of him. He blinked until the silhouette above him came into focus.

"About time," he muttered.

The figure leaned down and shoved a slab aside with a grunt. Mara’s scowling face filled the gap. Her braid was half-burned off, and one sleeve was charred down to the elbow, but she was alive—angry, exhausted, and alive.

"You’re welcome," she snapped back. "You triggered a ward meant to vaporize intruders. Consider yourself lucky this place is older than sin and the magic sputtered."

Cain crawled toward the opening. "The ward wasn’t supposed to react to me."

"Then either it malfunctioned," Mara said, extending a hand to haul him through, "or someone rewrote the rules."

He let her yank him up. His knees almost failed. She steadied him without comment, which said everything—Mara normally saved compassion for people who deserved it.

The sanctuary corridor behind her told the rest of the story. The blast hadn’t only dropped the ceiling; it had torn through sections of the mural-lined hallway, exposing bones of ancient architecture that had been hidden for centuries. Angelic script glowed weakly along the cracked walls, flickering like a dying pulse.