The Return of the Impossible

The city had barely begun to breathe again. The streets were still vibrating from the unresolved paradox that had swallowed The Decoherence. Neon lights flickered back to life, time itself resuming its unpredictable rhythm.

Synchron and The Observer stood in the middle of it all, their battle-worn forms silhouetted against the shifting skyline.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then—it began.

The sky shook.

A ripple—not like The Decoherence's collapse, not like the warping uncertainty of Synchron's entanglements—but something worse.

Something disappeared.

A building. A small, insignificant convenience store. It was just there a moment ago—they both remembered it—but now, it was gone. Not destroyed. Not altered. Just… removed from time itself.

Synchron's breath caught. "Did you see that?"

The Observer's golden eyes flickered, scanning the temporal layers of reality. His brows furrowed. "I don't just see it. I felt it."

Another ripple.

A streetlamp vanished. Then a park bench. Then an entire intersection.

Not fading. Not being erased.

Being eaten.

Then, a voice—low, slow, and ancient.

"You play with possibilities like children with fire."

A shape emerged from the distortion—a figure wrapped in shadows that shifted like an ink spill on reality.

Two glowing, empty eyes locked onto them. Not golden like The Observer's. Not shimmering like Synchron's entangled flickers.

Just hollow.

A voice that existed outside of time itself spoke again.

"I have grown hungry."

The Observer's fists clenched. "It's him."

Synchron narrowed his eyes. "Who?"

A pause.

Then, for the first time, The Observer said a name he had never dared to say before.

"Chronovore."

The sky darkened. The city trembled. And as another block of reality disappeared into the void, Synchron realized something terrifying.

This time…

there would be no second chances.