Apocalypse Baby-Chapter 305: Time Cage

Sylen turned, his blade still trembling with the hum of cursed energy, breath sharp and shallow from the brutal execution he had just performed. His muscles burned. His blood roared. But his focus remained steady, sharpening to a single point.

He expected motion. Expected fury. Expected Alex to be rushing him—blades raised, eyes blazing, vengeance dripping from every footstep.

Instead, there was… nothing.

No attack.

No sound.

Only silence.

An oppressive, almost sacred stillness, like the world itself was holding its breath. Smoke curled lazily in the distance, dragging through the air like the last exhale of a dying god. The ruins of the arena stood around him, silent witnesses to what had just occurred.

But no, Alex.

No sign of him.

Sylen's heart skipped, then pounded once. Hard. Too hard.

He blinked.

"What...?"

His voice came out as a whisper, half-choked by fatigue and disbelief. He turned again, faster this time, eyes scanning the battlefield in frantic, erratic sweeps.

Still nothing.

No sound of boots pounding toward him.

No aura announcing a killing blow.

No flash of steel breaking through the haze.

Just the distant, fading echoes of his shadow army still grappling with Alex's clones—locked in combat far from this killing ground.

But those Alex's weren't the problem.

The one that mattered was gone—like the world had swallowed him whole.

Sylen's instincts screamed now. Primal. Loud. Howling through his bones. His skin prickled. Every nerve fired at once.

Danger. Immediate. Unseen.

Then he felt it.

A sudden, icy presence.

Like the grip of a ghost on his spine.

Then—hands.

Fingers coiled around his throat. Tight. Deliberate. Absolute.

Sylen froze.

For a half-second, his brain shut down.

Then shock ripped through him like lightning.

He couldn't breathe.

Couldn't move.

Couldn't think.

Alex stood behind him, hand locked tight around his neck, fingers unmoving, unshaking, like steel molded to kill.

The contact wasn't sloppy or rushed. It was cold. Intentional. Perfect.

Alex had used something—some skill, some evolved form of movement—to breach the space between them without even a ripple. No step. No shadow. Not even a twitch of air.

But that wasn't what truly terrified Sylen.

No.

It was the silence from Noctherion.

The death warden—his eternal guardian—had not reacted.

And as if summoned by Sylen's fear, the shadow armor flared. Like a late heartbeat, its ghostly blades screamed into motion. A massive spectral sword split through space behind him, descending toward Alex's head with divine speed—a strike meant to kill.

But it was too late.

Alex didn't flinch.

Didn't shift.

Didn't even blink.

Instead, his lips moved.

And the words he spoke weren't threats or boasts.

They were calm.

Quiet.

Crippling.

"Chronos Field."

Three syllables. Whispered like they didn't matter.

But they did.

They changed everything.

The moment the words left his lips, the world fractured.

Reality shimmered, twisting like hot air above a flame. The distortion spread rapidly, forming a perfect sphere—a temporal dome that pulsed once before solidifying.

Everything outside that space began to slow.

Dramatically.

The strike from Noctherion, once blindingly fast, crawled forward now. A sword once faster than thought now moved like it was pushing through water. Like time itself had become molasses.

The shadow-blade blurred mid-swing, suspended between motion and stasis—frozen in amber, just inches from Alex's temple.

Sylen was trapped too.

Locked in that field.

The realization hit him like a hammer.

He couldn't move.

Couldn't blink.

Couldn't breathe right.

His limbs turned to stone.

His muscles stopped responding.

The only part of him still working was his mind—and it screamed:

What is this?

He tried to force a twitch, a shift, anything—but the field had him. His body was a statue. Heavy. Useless.

Only his thoughts moved now, spiraling faster with every heartbeat.

Alex leaned in. Closer.

Lips near Sylen's ear.

Voice steady, almost conversational.

Like they weren't standing on a battlefield.

Like, Sylen wasn't seconds from death.

"You've got guts," Alex said softly. "Not paying any attention to him."

His grip didn't tighten.

It didn't need to.

The cold aura around his fingers said enough. Sylen didn't need pressure to understand how close he was to death.

The air warped.

Alex's golden eyes flickered—shining faintly through the haze of time-stilled reality.

"Ahhh," Alex murmured. "I wanted this fight to end quickly, but…"

His gaze turned, just slightly, to the blurred blade hanging above his head—Noctherion's divine execution frozen mid-swing.

"But this… whatever this is," he said, tone even, "was a problem."

Alex studied the frozen blade.

"If I had moved recklessly, I would've triggered its attention," he said. "That's why I didn't."

He smiled faintly.

"So I waited."

His voice dropped further, now barely audible.

"I watched."

"I studied."

"You were impressive against Varkos. You fought well with Noctherion's help. But I learned something, Sylen. Something important."

A pause.

Then Alex whispered the truth like a dagger:

"Noctherion only reacts to killing intent."

Sylen's heart pounded—or at least, he imagined it did.

His body refused to obey even the rhythm of fear.

But Alex was right.

Noctherion's deepest law—his hidden mechanism—was simple and absolute.

It wasn't motion.

Not proximity.

Only intent.

The moment someone truly intended to harm Sylen, Noctherion struck.

That was why Sylen had been confused.

Because Alex was right behind him.

His hand around Sylen's neck should've been enough to trigger the fallen deity. His proximity alone should have sparked retaliation.

And yet…

There was nothing.

No response.

No instant counter.

Why?

Alex chuckled quietly. His tone turned playful as he continued his explanation.

"That's why I emptied my thoughts. Shut off my aura. No emotions. No rage. I didn't want to hurt you, Sylen. I just moved. No bloodlust. No threats."

He leaned even closer.

"In my mind," he whispered, "I imagined giving you a neck massage. You earned it, after all. You killed Varkos."

Alex's grin widened.

"A hell of a job."

He laughed softly. Genuinely.

"Ridiculous, right? But it worked. That—and my insane stealth technique. Silence in every sense. But the moment my thoughts shifted, I got noticed. So that… is why I created this."

He lifted a hand, gesturing to the shimmering dome surrounding them both.

Chronos Field.

An evolved sub-skill of [Godeyes], fused from three high-tier abilities:

[Voidgaze], [Omniview], and [Omnigaze].

The result?

Total temporal manipulation.

An isolated time cage.

A frozen world where only Alex moved freely, while everything else, no matter how powerful, slowed to a crawl.

Sylen felt his breath trapped inside his chest, rage and helplessness mixing into a hollow, sour taste in his throat.

He was beaten.

Utterly.

Not by force.

But by patience.

By planning.

By intelligence.

By a calm that refused to falter.

That was supposed to be his strength.

But the situation had forced him to act rashly.

Sylen sighed inwardly as the realization struck.

He never stood a chance.

Alex's grip on Sylen's neck tightened slightly.

And his voice, barely a whisper, echoed through the stillness:

"It's time to end this."