Chapter 76: Time Lost

Deep within a shadowed war room of the Underworld, a suffocating silence hung thick over a gathering of high-ranking demons. Sitri stood quietly near the back, her arms crossed over her armored chest, observing the high command.

"What is the status of the Sparda descendant?" a multi-eyed demon finally grunted, breaking the stillness.

"It’s bad. Very bad," another rasped, gripping the edge of the stone table. "More than half of the vanguard has been obliterated."

A massive, four-armed demon slammed his fist down, cracking the stone. "Already?! More than sixty thousand in a few hours!"

"Curse that Sparda and his entire bloodline," another hissed, shaking his head.

Sitri let out a soft, imperceptible breath of relief beneath her stoic expression. While she was frustrated that Rudra hadn’t escaped before the spatial traps locked down—leaving the threat of the Eclipse Gate hanging in the air—wiping out over fifty thousand demons single-handedly was staggering. Just like the original, she thought to herself, a subtle smirk forming at the corner of her lips. She should have expected nothing less from her master’s bloodline.

"Should we inform Lord Mundus?" a pale demon asked hesitantly.

The room went dead silent. No one dared to volunteer to bring such catastrophic news to the ancient Emperor, knowing full well the bearer of bad news would be instantly incinerated.

Before they could decide, the heavy iron doors burst open. A bloodied scout stumbled into the hall, collapsing onto his knees. "My lords! It’s horrific! The forces we sent are fleeing back through the portals in pure terror!"

"Fleeing?!" the four-armed demon roared.

"Yes!" the scout wheezed. "And the reserves standing by are refusing to enter the rift! No one will step through!"

Pandemonium broke out. High demons began shouting over one another, cursing Sparda’s name and hurling accusations as panic rippled through the war room.

THUMP.

A colossal, jagged greatsword plunged into the center of the stone table, shattering it into pieces.

The room instantly fell silent as a hulking figure rose from the shadows. He stood nearly nine feet tall, encased in dark, living abyssal armor that bled black smog. Two glowing crimson slits burned from behind his horned helmet, radiating a terrifying pressure.

"Bickering like frightened children," the general growled, his voice like grinding tectonic plates. "And you call yourselves high demons of the Underworld."

"Easy for you to say, Balthazar!" the multi-eyed demon spat back. "If you think you can do better, go down there yourself instead of criticizing us!"

Balthazar ripped his massive blade out of the stone with one hand, resting the flat of the heavy steel against his armored shoulder. A cruel, dark aura flared around his form.

"Watch me," Balthazar rumbled, his crimson eyes gleaming with ancient hatred. "Today is the day the feud between Sparda’s blood and myself comes to an end."

Without another word, Balthazar vanished into a swirl of dark mist, speeding directly toward the portal leading to Rudra’s dimension.

____

Back in the desolate pocket dimension, the storm of violence had finally ground to a sudden halt.

Rudra sat cross-legged atop the massive, severed horn of a colossal demon. All around him, as far as the eye could see, lay a mountain of thousands upon thousands of demon corpses, silent beneath the ash-choked red sky.

He held Yamato carefully across his lap, using a small white cloth to meticulously wipe down the dark steel, polishing every inch with absurd precision. Once satisfied, he snapped the katana back into its scabbard with a sharp, echoing click.

He dusted off his coat and prepared to stand up when a bright, golden flash erupted right in front of his face.

THUNK.

A familiar, heavy broadsword tumbled out of a spatial tear and plunged straight into the demon’s skull right between Rudra’s boots, vibrating lightly.

Rudra froze, blinking down at the iconic skull-and-ribcage guard of Rebellion. "What the...?"

"Well, would you look at that," the System drawled in his mind, taking a long, observational pause. "It seems Rebellion saw you pampering Yamato and got jealous. It wants its spa day too."

Rudra stared at the broadsword for a solid three seconds before his face softened into an expression of pure, dramatic pity.

"Aww," Rudra cooed, reaching out to gently pull the massive blade out of the skull. "Did he neglect you? Come here, you poor thing."

He pulled out a fresh polishing cloth and immediately went to work on Rebellion’s pommel, buffing out invisible specks of dust while dabbing a single, dramatic tear from his eye.

"You must have suffered so much," Rudra muttered under his breath, his voice cracking with exaggerated grief. "Locked away with Arthur all this time... probably thrown into dirty corners, never even getting a proper oiling. Unbelievable."

He blew gently on the crossguard and scrubbed a scuff mark near the skull motif. "Don’t worry, buddy. Even if I rarely swing you, I’ll wash you every single week. You’re safe from that brute now."

The System went dead silent for a long moment.

"...Host?" the System finally asked, sounding deeply disturbed. "What’s with the emotional waterworks?"

"Can’t you see?!" Rudra sniffled, carefully polishing the twin horns on the sword’s guard. "These are tears of pure joy! I just rescued a beautiful, innocent soul from a lifetime of domestic abuse and terrible maintenance!"

"Domestic abuse—it’s a sword, Rudra! It’s an inanimate object forged for mass slaughter!"

"He didn’t even use the right metal polish!" Rudra argued defensively, holding Rebellion up to the scarlet light to inspect his work. "Look at this finish! It was practically screaming for help!"

"Somebody call a doctor," the System flatly muttered. "My host has officially lost his damn mind."

Rudra gave the blade one final, satisfying buff before unsummoning Rebellion back into his armory space. He rolled his shoulders, standing up on the massive demon’s head to stretch his legs.

"Host, sorry to burst your bubble," the System interjected, its tone shifting back to business. "Looks like the boss just spawned after clearing the mob wave."

Rudra glanced up. Far across the mountain of corpses, a nine-foot tall construct of living, pitch-black armor was slowly marching toward him. Dark smog bled from every joint, and a colossal, jagged greatsword dragged behind him, carving a deep groove through the bone-littered dirt.

Rudra hopped down from the severed head, landing lightly on his feet. Matching the giant’s pace, he strolled forward until the two stood face-to-face—or rather, until Balthazar was towering over him, glaring down with burning crimson eyes.

Neither spoke for a long, heavy beat.

"Descendant of Sparda," Balthazar grumbled, his voice like grinding tectonic plates as he lifted his greatsword. "Before you die, you should know the history of—"

"Bla, bla, bla," Rudra interrupted, raising a lazy hand to cut him off. "Shut your bitch ass up. No one has time for your tragic back-story."

Balthazar’s crimson eyes flared with sudden fury, the black armor around his neck expanding.

"You’re here to kill me, and you’re stalling for time while Mundus cooks up whatever trash he’s planning with the Eclipse Gate," Rudra drawled, resting his thumb against Yamato’s guard with a soft click. "So let’s just fight. So I can kill you, then leave, and go smash that gate."

"Then die, insolent worm!" Balthazar roared, bringing his massive blade down in a horizontal cleave capable of bisecting a fortress.

Rudra didn’t even draw his sword. Space distorted around him as he simply slid backward via Kamui, letting the giant blade crash uselessly into the dirt, blowing a fifty-foot crater into the rock.

"Wow. Slow, loud, and clumsy," Rudra taunted, leaning his hands casually behind his head as he stood on the rim of the crater. "Did Mundus send you because you were the strongest, or because he wanted to get rid of you first?"

"I am Balthazar! Warlord of the Abyssal Reach!" the demon bellowed, turning and swinging a furious flurry of empowered strikes, each wave releasing arcs of black hellfire.

Rudra casually stepped through the flames, swapping places with a rock behind Balthazar using Amenotejikara.

"Cool title," Rudra’s voice echoed right behind the demon’s horn. "Does it come with a skill set, or just a really big sword?"

Balthazar spun around in a rage, backhanding the air, but hit nothing. Rudra was already sitting on the flat edge of Balthazar’s own sword, resting on his knee with a bored expression.

"Curse you, Sparda!" Balthazar shrieked, swinging his arms wildly to shake him off. "I will tear your limbs apart! I will drown your world in—"

"Yeah, yeah. Bro, your breath smells like burning trash," Rudra sighed, dropping down onto the dirt in front of him.

He took a slow, deep breath. His Mangekyo and Rinnegan locked onto the giant demon as he settled into a low, razor-sharp stance, resting his hand firmly on Yamato’s hilt.

"Playtime’s over, big guy."

Balthazar lunged forward with everything he had, raising his sword for a final, desperate strike.

Rudra didn’t dodge this time. He drew Yamato an inch, and the world went stark black and white.

"Judgement Cut End."

Rudra vanished. Space itself cracked like brittle glass across a hundred-meter radius. Countless geometric lines of pure spatial severing webbed through the air, flashing violently through Balthazar’s massive form a thousand times in a single microsecond.

SHEATHE.

Rudra materialized ten paces behind the warlord, snapping Yamato cleanly back into its scabbard with a crisp, resonant click.

The world snapped back into full color.

Balthazar froze mid-swing. A moment later, his colossal armor and body split into thousands of neat, cubic blocks of ash, collapsing into a harmless pile of dust before blowing away in the scarlet wind.

"Clear," the System remarked smoothly. "Total fight time: one minute, forty seconds. Mostly wasted on trash talk."

"It’s called psychological warfare," Rudra grunted, turning toward the open air. "Now let’s go break a gate."

Without giving Balthazar’s crumbling remains a second glance, Rudra gripped Yamato’s hilt. He drew the blade in a swift cross-motion—a sharp vertical slash followed by a clean horizontal arc. Space groaned, reality split wide open under the spatial edge, and a dimensional rift flickered to life in a tear of bright blue light. Rudra stepped through, leaving the ash and blood of the pocket realm behind.

He emerged silently into the cool night air of Crocus, stepping onto an empty rooftop overlooking the city.

Rudra glanced up at the dark sky, expecting to see the late-night quiet of the second day. But a sudden, deafening explosion of fireworks shattered the stillness, painting the clouds in brilliant bursts of crimson and gold.

Hovering high above the arena, massive Lacrima screens illuminated the skyline, broadcasting glowing, celebratory text across the capital:

VICTORY: FAIRY TAIL — CHAMPIONS OF THE GRAND MAGIC GAMES!

Images of a battered, grinning Natsu, Erza, Gray, Laxus, and the rest of the guild flashed across the screen while the distant roar of thousands of cheering fans echoed through the streets.

Rudra stared at the screen, as the realization hit him.

"Mundus, you dirty ass dog," Rudra muttered under his breath, shaking his head helplessly.

Time in that distorted pocket dimension had moved differently. He hadn’t just been gone for a few hours—he’d been held up long enough for the entire Grand Magic Games to finish. Which meant tonight was the final night. The night the Eclipse Gate was set to open.

Rudra let out a long, heavy sigh and closed his eyes. He expanded his Observation Haki across the capital, his sensory range sweeping through the city in an instant.

Deep beneath the Grand Palace of Mercurius, his Haki picked up the distinct magic signatures of Fairy Tail—alongside Lucy, and another identical, yet strangely worn signature sitting right beside her. Future Lucy.

Rudra opened his eyes, a cool, dangerous glint returning to his gaze.

"Time to get to work," he muttered.

Space warped around his form. Before the nearby shadows could even shift, his body dissolved into a flock of dark crows that scattered into the night sky, vanishing without a trace.