The Empyrean, backed into a corner, began to truly panic. Gone was the calculated cruelty, the arrogance born of millennia dominating this world. His power, built on stolen moments, twisted lives, and a perversion of reality's flow felt…brittle. In the face of Arthur's wrath, the Empyrean wasn't an ancient villain, but a cornered beast clinging to what little control remained.
With a final, desperate roar, he unleashed the true heart of his monstrous power - not control over time, but something far more insidious. The astral cage pulsed, not with the flickering remnants of worlds, but with raw potential. It was the distilled echo of timelines the Empyrean himself had pruned away, realities he'd deemed unworthy, futures he had discarded with a flick of his temporal powers.
