Reality buckled.
The air around the redwood cabin distorted—colors bleeding into one another, the ground cracking beneath invisible pressure. The snow that had once fallen gently now froze midair, caught between seconds. Even sound itself fractured, echoing backward and forward all at once.
Retro's blade hummed like thunder held captive.
Phantom stood opposite him, grinning beneath the shifting light, his white eyes gleaming like shards of ice.
Phantom (mocking):
"Still hiding behind mortal restraint, Retro? How quaint."
Retro didn't answer. He moved—
a blur of green and black light cutting across the frozen world.
Their swords met, and the impact shattered the silence.
A sound like glass breaking filled the air as time itself splintered. The shockwave rippled outward, uprooting trees and sending fractured reflections of the two fighters scattering through the forest—each echo fighting the same battle in distorted timelines.
Phantom (laughing):
"Ah, there it is! The rage! The chaos you bury so deep!"
Retro swung again—harder. Sparks erupted with every strike, each one freezing in place before evaporating into streaks of light. The force of his blows left scars in the snow, each swing tearing open thin rifts of green and gold light.
Retro (snarling):
"You talk too much!"
He pivoted, his aura flaring. The spectral sword extended outward like a lance of energy, colliding with Phantom's blade in a burst of blinding light.
For a heartbeat, everything stopped.
The snow.
The wind.
Even gravity.
Then the world resumed with an explosion that sent both of them flying apart.
Retro crashed through a tree trunk, snapping it clean in half before landing in the snow. Phantom landed gracefully, dusting off his coat as if the battle amused him.
Phantom (grinning):
"You've gotten stronger… but you still don't understand your place, do you?"
Retro rose slowly, breathing hard, his eyes glowing brighter. "My place?"
Phantom:
"You fight for balance, for peace. But what peace exists in a world built on the corpses of gods? Gaia made you to destroy me—but all she did was create something worse."
Retro's aura surged again, his sword shifting from spectral green to deep gold—the color of divine light corrupted by rage.
Retro:
"I'm not your weapon. I'm not hers either."
Phantom chuckled, stepping forward through the distortion.
"Oh, but you are. You always were. You think that sword chose you by chance? That the gems you collect don't whisper her will? You're a pawn, Retro—just like your dear Atlas, just like your son's child."
That was the wrong name to speak.
Retro blurred forward. His next swing tore through reality itself, carving a vertical line through the air that remained open—space warping like liquid light. Phantom blocked, but the force sent him sliding backward through the snow, leaving a molten trail behind.
Retro (furious):
"Don't. Say. Their. Names."
Phantom steadied himself, the smile fading now.
"So the mortal remembers his pain."
He extended his hand, and darkness poured from his palm, weaving into blades of pure void. The ground beneath him blackened, spreading outward in tendrils of smoke that reached for Retro.
Phantom:
"Let's see if your humanity can still bleed."
Retro charged again—faster, sharper. Their blades met midair, arcs of lightning streaking through the still world.
Time stopped again with each impact.
Every swing froze reality for half a heartbeat, trapping the world between motion and silence.
To anyone else, it would have looked like a storm of flickering light and shadow—a duel that existed in too many places at once.
Retro's expression hardened. "I'm ending this—here and now."
Phantom (grinning):
"Then show me, god-slayer."
Retro roared, slamming his foot into the snow. The ground cracked outward like spiderwebs of green light, the air pulsing as the Night Slayer's energy awakened within his spectral sword.
He raised it overhead, the blade glowing bright enough to turn the frozen forest to day.
Retro:
"Lightning Dragon of Divine Judgment!"
He swung—
and the world split open.
A torrent of lightning and divine flame cascaded downward, swallowing Phantom in a wave of destruction that tore through the forest and beyond, cutting a scar miles long through the redwoods.
When the light faded, Retro fell to one knee, his breath visible in the cold air.
The snow began to fall again.
The world—broken and cracked—slowly resumed its rhythm.
But Phantom was gone.
Not destroyed. Not banished.
Just… gone.
Retro gripped his sword tightly, his voice rough.
"Run, coward. The next time I find you, you won't come back."
He stood, turning toward the cabin—the faint light in Lea's window still flickering, steady, alive.
Retro (softly):
"I'm done being your pawn, Gaia… and your ghost, Phantom. The next time time stops… it'll be because I chose it."
The wind howled through the trees again, and the redwoods whispered back,
as time itself dared not move.
The wind whispered.
It moved softly through the trees, curling around the ruins of the redwoods, carrying the faint smell of iron and ash.
Retro stood still, the storm inside him finally quieting… until his gaze drifted toward the cabin.
A figure stood at the window.
Hooded. Still. Watching.
Retro's heart froze. The silhouette was faint against the frost-glazed glass—but he knew that posture, that smirk, that presence.
Phantom.
And then it smiled.
Retro barely had time to react before a sound—sharp, clean—split the silence.
He gasped, looking down.
A blade of pure void had run straight through his chest.
The world dimmed around him. His aura flickered.
Blood spilled down his shirt, black and red against the snow. His hand trembled as he tried to grab the blade, but his strength vanished.
Behind him came a laugh. Low. Cold.
Familiar.
Phantom (mocking whisper): "You should've known… the moment you looked away."
Retro tried to turn, but his body refused him. His vision blurred, darkness creeping in from the edges.
The wind grew louder, swirling around him—until it wasn't wind anymore. It was whispers. Voices. His own name.
"Retro! Retro!"
He blinked.
The world snapped.
The pain was gone.
The cold—gone.
The snow—gone.
Retro was sitting by the fire.
The cabin walls were whole again, warm light flickering against the wooden panels.
The smell of smoke and stew filled the air.
His breathing hitched. His hands—no blood. His chest—unscarred.
Across from him, Lea sat with a concerned look, calling his name again.
Lea (worried): "Dad…? Dad, are you okay? You're scaring me."
Retro blinked rapidly, his pupils still dilated, his voice low and unsteady.
Retro: "What… just happened?"
Lea tilted her head, confused. "You've been sitting there for a while. I called you like five times. You just… stared at the fire."
Retro looked down at his shaking hands. The phantom pain still burned in his chest.
He glanced toward the window again—no figure. No shadow. Just the redwood forest swaying in the wind.
But the feeling wouldn't leave him.
The faint whisper of laughter echoed in his ears, softer than the crackling flame.
Phantom (distant, echoing): "Time… still remembers."
Retro's eyes hardened, though a flicker of fear lingered behind them.
He reached for the spectral hilt of his sword instinctively—but found nothing. Only air.
The firelight danced against his face as he whispered to himself:
Retro: "Was it real… or am I still there?"
Outside, the wind howled once more—soft, mocking, familiar.
Retro sat there, staring into the fire like it might answer him.
His chest still burned with the memory of the void-blade, even though there was no wound. No scar. No blood.
But pain doesn't lie.
Lea shifted closer, her voice quiet and trembling.
Lea:
"Dad… what happened? You're pale."
Retro forced a breath.
The flames warbled strangely — as if time lagged around them for a heartbeat.
Retro (soft but serious):
"Something's wrong with the world… or with me."
He didn't want to say Phantom's name. Not yet.
Not when Lea was still recovering from Gaia's trial.
He glanced toward the window again — nothing there.
But the fear stayed clawed into his ribs.
Lea:
"…Did you see something outside?"
Her eyes flicked toward the window too, ears lowering slightly like a startled cat.
Retro didn't answer immediately.
He rubbed his thumb along his palm — grounding himself. The tactile sensation calmed the shaking in his fingers.
Retro:
"Just… stay close tonight, kiddo."
Lea's brows furrowed.
She wasn't a child anymore — but Retro's tone made her chest tighten.
She nodded silently.
Retro stood, stretching his back slowly, trying to shake off the dread.
But as he took one step toward the cabin door—
—static tore through his hearing.
Like a broken television dissolving into snow.
His vision blurred at the edges.
The room flickered — Lea's shape glitching for half a heartbeat.
The fireplace dimmed, then flared into overly bright light, white and blinding.
Retro's breath hitched.
Retro (whisper):
"…not again."
The cabin walls dissolved into shifting fragments.
Shards of momentary memories — figures laughing, crying, walking — blinked in and out like broken film frames.
The air behind him grew cold.
Too cold.
He knew who it was before he turned.
He didn't have to see him.
Phantom (softly, too close):
"You can't ignore me, Retro."
Retro spun around — and nothing was there.
The cabin was whole.
Silent.
Warm again.
Lea looked up from her seat, confused.
Lea:
"…Dad?"
Retro swallowed.
He forced a small smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Retro:
"Nothing. Just tired."
But he knew it wasn't nothing.
Phantom had slipped inside his reality… and Retro didn't know how long the illusion had lasted.
Or if it had ended at all.