Chapter 3: The Legend of the Cosmic Crossover

The arena was still buzzing from Zion's dimension-rattling dunk. Fans were screaming, holographic fireworks burst above the court, and alternate realities flickered in and out of existence. Somewhere in a parallel universe, an identical crowd was cheering—but with reversed jerseys and floating popcorn vendors.

Zion leaned back on the bench, sipping from a bottle of quantum hydration fluid. Destiny Hooper sat beside him, scrolling through her interdimensional social feed, where hashtags like #InfinitySlam and #ZionBrokeTimeAgain were trending.

"Enjoy the spotlight while you can," Destiny said, her tone playful. "You know they're going to retaliate."

Zion smirked. "Retaliate? Against this? Please." He flexed his fingers, which still faintly glowed from channeling the raw energy of his last play. "I've got handles for days, and no one—not even Captain Time—can keep up with me."

Across the court, Kronos Dunklord wasn't smiling. His golden aura flared as he paced in front of his team. The rim Zion had dunked on was still trembling, and Kronos's pride was just as shaken.

"Enough," Kronos declared. "We're taking control of this game. Get ready for the Cosmic Crossover."

Gravitas perked up. "Wait, the Cosmic Crossover? I thought that move was banned after… you know… the universe imploded."

Kronos's eyes burned brighter. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."

Tipoff Redux

The game resumed, and the energy in the arena shifted. Zion's usual swagger faltered as he sensed something ominous brewing. Kronos had the ball, dribbling at half court, each bounce echoing like the toll of a cosmic bell.

"Stay sharp," Destiny warned, but Zion didn't need the reminder. He stepped up, ready to defend.

Kronos smirked. "You think your little parlor tricks can stop me? Let me show you what true power looks like."

He began the Cosmic Crossover. It started slow—a simple left-to-right dribble—but the air around the ball shimmered, distorting space-time. Zion moved to mirror him, but as soon as he stepped right, he felt a strange pull, like gravity itself was being rewritten. His body staggered forward, almost against his will.

"What the…" Zion muttered.

"Too late," Kronos whispered.

The second move of the crossover came faster. Kronos's body seemed to split into three overlapping forms, each one dribbling in a different timeline. Zion blinked, trying to focus, but every version of Kronos seemed equally real.

Then came the third move—a behind-the-back dribble that sent shockwaves rippling through the multiverse. Entire sections of the crowd disappeared momentarily, replaced by dinosaur spectators and medieval knights.

Zion tried to adjust, but his feet felt heavy, as if the laws of motion had abandoned him. With one final feint, Kronos accelerated past him, leaving a trail of afterimages and echoes of his laughter.

"And that," Kronos said, soaring toward the basket, "is how you rewrite history."

He slammed the ball through the hoop with such force that the scoreboard reset to 0-0, erasing Zion's earlier feats from existence. The crowd gasped as reality itself seemed to reboot.

Zion's Counterattack

Destiny rushed over to Zion, who was still recovering from the temporal whiplash.

"Are you okay?" she asked, helping him to his feet.

Zion shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness. "What just happened? Did he seriously just… retcon my points?"

"Looks like it," Destiny said, scowling. "We're back to square one."

Zion clenched his fists. "Oh, it's on now."

He grabbed the inbound pass and stormed up the court. Kronos was waiting, his golden aura brighter than ever. Zion hesitated for half a second, then broke into a grin.

"Two can play at that game," he said.

What happened next was hard to describe. Zion's movements defied logic, his dribble creating spirals of energy that bent the court into a Mobius strip. He crossed over once, then twice, each time generating a shockwave that disrupted Kronos's perfect rhythm.

"Impossible," Kronos muttered, struggling to keep up.

With one final move, Zion spun 360 degrees, his dribble accelerating to light speed. The ball became a blur of energy, and as he launched toward the hoop, his voice echoed through the arena.

"BEHOLD… THE MULTIVERSE MANEUVER!"

He dunked so hard that the hoop shattered, creating a portal to an alternate reality where everything was made of neon colors and 8-bit sounds. The portal quickly closed, but not before the scoreboard updated—Team Earthling: 2, Team Chronoclasm: 0.

Kronos fell to one knee, sweat pouring down his face. "This… isn't over," he growled.

"You're right," Zion said, spinning the ball on his finger. "It's just getting started."