At that moment, Byakuran's beam of light and Giotto's flame exploded together—colliding with a brilliance that swallowed the entire skyline. A white cocoon of radiance unfurled, hanging in the sky like a second sun.
Inside the cocoon, time slowed.
Byakuran hovered at the center, white flame wings unfurled, violet eyes narrowed. His gaze fixed on the ten shadowy figures flickering behind Giotto—guardians of past generations, drawn forth by the ring's power.
He laughed.
"So even here… the Vongola Ring plays with time," he whispered, voice laced with madness. "Just like last time. Just like every time. No matter how many worlds I shatter… this trick always returns."
But this time—he refused to lose.
The Mare Ring on his chest pulsed violently. From the cracks in time, artifacts spilled forth—bloodstained remnants of the past: the Second's shattered twin pistols, the Fifth's broken pocket watch, the frozen mask of the Eighth…
They bled.
"LOOK!" Byakuran screamed, brandishing Tsunayoshi's scorched X-gloves. "Is this what you call inheritance?!"
But Giotto remained steady, his hand gripping the Vongola Sky Ring like it was forged from resolve itself. He could now see the truth clearly—not just of this world, but of all the Vongola across time.
"No," he murmured, and lifted his head.
"This—this is the real inheritance."
A new flame surged from his forehead. Pure. Sky-pure. It didn't burn—it cleansed. The ultimate Sky Flame of the Primo Vongola.
The artifacts floating in the void reacted. The Second stepped out of his own guns, a figure of raw power. The Fifth emerged from the clock shards, sharp-eyed and calculating. The Eighth reformed from frost, ghostly and still.
One by one, the ghosts of Vongola leaders stood behind Giotto—until finally, Tsunayoshi, bloodied but unbowed, raised his hand. The X-gloves reignited in spectral flame.
It was no illusion. It was legacy made manifest.
"Another ghost parade?" Byakuran sneered, firing a white flame sphere toward the formation. "I've seen thirty-seven versions of this scene."
The blast never reached them.
Giotto simply raised his hand and traced a ring of fire in the air.
The circle pulsed—and the shadows behind him became solid. Real. The nine generations stepped forward and placed their hands on Primo's shoulders.
And the world ignited.
"It's not a ghost," Giotto said. "It's the awakening of a century of resolve… the weight of a family that never faltered."
As he spoke, he began to rise—lifted by unseen force.
His cloak unfurled into a sky-spanning map of flame—a stellar constellation of burning will. Its energy bent the heavens, threatening to consume the very sky.
Tsunayoshi's shadow stepped beside him. Together, the two generations stood back-to-back, then moved as one, tracing the ∞ symbol in the air.
Infinity.
The symbol gleamed, impossibly bright.
"Primo Finale: Supernova Resonance!"
Their voices shook time itself. A beam of light erupted, not from one ring, but from all ten generations. Their flames crossed boundaries, fused together, and surged toward Byakuran like judgment from the stars.
Byakuran's smile finally faltered.
He raised one hand—and mirrors shattered behind him.
Dozens of versions of himself, from dozens of timelines, flickered into existence. His own power from thirty-seven worlds merged into one, a typhoon of chaotic force.
The Mare Ring screamed.
Byakuran roared—and met the Resonance head-on.
The cocoon cracked. The sky tore open.
Flames and dimensions collided. Space trembled. For a moment, no one could see anything beyond white.
And then—clarity.
Byakuran was falling.
His body was breaking apart—no, not just his body, but his essence in every parallel world. He looked into the shards of his ring—and saw something he didn't expect.
The bases he had burned across time—rebuilt.
The guardians he had killed—reborn.
The flames of Vongola burned again.
They smiled at him. All of them. Across every world.
"You…" he whispered. "Your flame exists… in every time and space?"
The final image Byakuran saw before he disintegrated—was Tsunayoshi smiling at him from a universe he thought he'd erased.
Giotto caught the Mare Ring fragments as they fell.
They shimmered in his flame and transformed—no longer a symbol of manipulation, but a chain of resolve.
"Because the will to protect… never dies in any world."
He touched back down on Earth, steady, resolute.
All around him, the battlefield was quiet. But the Guardians had seen everything.
The Second removed his cap.
The Third pressed a hand to his heart.
Tsunayoshi gave a lopsided grin and waved—like a younger brother saying, you've got this now.
For a breathless moment, time stood still.
The past stood beside the present.
And the flame that bore the Vongola name… burned with infinite light.
Giotto smiled faintly. "Don't worry… I'll protect this place."
Then he turned to his Guardians.
"Clean up. Tend the injured. Let the banquet begin."
"Leave the rest to Chen Ye and the others."
"Boring! I wanted to chase down the ones who ran!"
"I was so cool just now, but none of you saw!"
"I'm taking a break! I'm on vacation! For life!"
"Anyone who defiles life in blood—will answer to the Vongola Sky."
. . . . .
From the other end of the battlefield—
"As expected of Vongola. Resolved it already."
"Tony got flattened, though."
"It's not over. This was just the opening act."
Somewhere deeper in the universe—past stars no human had named—a new war was beginning.