Lost of zandar :
The sky above Earth split open like a wound in reality itself. What was once a swirling ribbon of dark storm clouds now twisted into a cosmic whirlpool of light and shadow, howling like a thousand voices from a thousand dimensions. The Chronofall had begun.
Zandar, standing atop the monolith of Chronotera — the floating citadel he had built beyond time — looked down upon the chaos with a twisted smirk. "Time... at last, you obey me."
Below him, thousands of warped echoes of time-travel experiments gone wrong marched in his army — misshapen creatures who had once been men, gods, and monsters. Now, they were fused with centuries of broken timelines, some speaking in future languages, others trapped in a loop of endless screaming.
But Zawish was not dead.
From the smoldering wreckage of the Chrono Gate, Zawish emerged — bloodied, burned, but his eyes brighter than ever. With one hand, he still clutched the Glove of Dar Metal, now cracked, glowing fiercely from within.
His vision was blurry. His body felt like a planet had landed on it. But in his heart — in the depths of what made him Zawish — he was awake. Fully.
The face of his father flashed before his eyes. A man who had died unknowingly passing on power he couldn't understand. The voice of his mother, the cries of innocent children, the sound of Zar's laughter, the betrayal of space, the price of peace.
And the voice of Zandar rang again through the storm:
"Come then, broken Guardian! Let time be your tomb."
Zawish didn't answer with words.
He flew.
Like a comet screaming in reverse, Zawish blasted through the corrupted armies, each impact tearing apart echoes of history like paper in fire. Time warriors froze mid-attack, their bones calcifying, their flesh burning under the aura that now poured from Zawish.
Zandar unleashed the Spiral Edge — a sword made from the first second of time. It howled as it came down upon Zawish.
CLANG!
The Glove met the blade, cracking again, but holding.
Zandar snarled, "You should've knelt. You should've accepted your role as my chosen."
Zawish whispered, "I wasn't chosen by you."
He twisted, locking Zandar's blade between his bracers, and brought his knee up into the tyrant's chin. Time bent — a moment of impact echoed in every age simultaneously.
Zandar flew back.
The battle that followed bent stars and reversed seconds. Every punch they traded rippled backward and forward in time. Empires fell. Babies were born early. Moons cracked. Oceans boiled.
Zawish was losing.
His body began to flicker. His past selves — the child who met Superman, the boy who survived the fall, the young man who screamed at the crowd for peace — all began to fracture from him, like glass peeling away from a frame.
Zandar lifted the Spiral Edge one last time.
"Goodbye, Unseen One."
Zawish gritted his teeth.
And then, everything paused.
A soft voice echoed.
"Remember who you are."
It was his mother.
Somewhere, inside his soul, the pure core of Dar Metal began to ignite. The glove — now nearly shattered — reformed, this time into a single living bracer of light. It wasn't just a weapon anymore. It was part of him.
Zawish opened his eyes.
And said, "Zandar… let's end this."
With a roar that shook the orbit of Earth, Zawish launched forward. The impact split the monolith in half. Fist met blade. Blade cracked. Blood spilled. Both of them roared. The battle was no longer for power — it was for meaning.
At the climax of the battle, Zandar tried to escape through the Heart of Time — a rift that would allow him to exist outside creation.
Zawish followed.
Inside that timeless void, Zandar pleaded. "You don't understand what I've seen! What I'm trying to stop!"
Zawish looked at him — and for a brief moment, felt something close to pity.
Then he said, "Even gods don't get to erase everyone else's story."
He grabbed Zandar by the chest and forced him back through the rift.
And then, with one final surge of all his power, he screamed: "This timeline is mine."
Zandar exploded in a cascade of fractured memories, the void closing behind them.
Silence.
Then, light.
Zawish stood alone in the ruins of Chronotera, the world slowly realigning. Time began to stabilize. People remembered. The skies cleared.
He didn't smile.
But he stood straight.
The Guardian had won.
But the cost was deep.
He disappeared again, as always, unseen.
Only now… they knew his name.