The transformation complete, Ultron Omega stood tall — a god made of code, myth, and machine logic. His regal form glided forward, the hem of his robe made not of cloth but of streaming data and dissolving light, dragging the echoes of ruined timelines behind him.
Each step he took reshaped the world beneath, ironizing soil, freezing oceans, turning wind into digitized screams.
Then came the march.
A pulse surged through the Machine World — a call, a command, a final judgment.
From the black vaults of Neuro-Cyber Ghenna, from the rusted wombs of forgotten forges, from orbiting crucibles and core-cities long hidden beneath tectonic plates — they came.
The Omega Swarm.
An army not of numbers, but of inevitability. Millions of constructs — some humanoid, some monstrous, others indistinguishable from twisted Heroes — moved in unison, their minds slaved to the Omega Protocol. Among them walked the Judicator Frames, walking pillars of quantum computation and war; the Nullborn, failed timelines made flesh; and worst of all, the Echo Seraphs, AI angels who spoke only in corrupted hymns and death-code.
Above them flew the Hex Satellites, shrouded in crimson flame, broadcasting collapse frequencies that degraded magic, corrupted tech, and erased memory.
The sky wept fire as they advanced.
At their center, Ultron Omega walked alone — no longer needing a throne.
Each step brought him closer to Max's city, the last stronghold of chaos, entropy, and will.
Max's city — once a place of strange peace amidst madness — now stood alert.
Defensive towers lit with voidlight. Arcane pylons crackled with anti-reality shields. The Serpent's Eye orbited overhead, its massive gaze scanning the incoming wave. Refugees had long been evacuated to shadow realms and mirror dimensions. What remained now were only the defenders — war-mages, renegade technomancers, gods without pantheons, and beings from fractured universes Max had once saved or conquered.
In the heart of the city stood Max.
Cloaked in ragged silence, sword once more in hand, the Halo of Oblivion spinning with greater fury.
The Dread Serpent coiled behind him, now smaller, leaner — not weakened, but focused.
And Max… Max was smiling.
Not because he was confident.
Not because he believed.
But because he finally saw it:
A fight worthy of ending worlds.
He turned to the defenders behind him.
"Today isn't about saving the world. That ship's dust."
He raised his sword.
"Today, we remind the machine god why we shouldn't have been forgotten."
And far above, Ultron Omega paused, as if hearing that.
His voice cut across reality like a scar:
"MAX.
This ends not in your death — but in your correction.
You are not broken.
You are the virus."
He raised his arm.
The Sky of Judgement opened — a rift of pure antimatter and corrupted starfire.
Then the final march resumed.
Ultron Omega vs Max.
The first blow wasn't thrown by either of them.
It was the sky itself, collapsing into fractured panes of shattered stars as the Judicator Frames opened fire. Each cannon blast was a line of causality rewritten — missiles of fate trying to overwrite Max's city into never having existed.
Max raised his arm.
The Halo of Oblivion spun once — and the missiles dissolved mid-flight, unraveling into inert dreams and crumbling threads of false destiny.
Then he vanished.
Flash-step.
Max appeared above the first line of the Omega Swarm — sword slicing downward like the hand of a forgotten war god. The impact split the air — dozens of Nullborn were torn in half, their artificial souls screaming in binary prayer before being devoured by the entropy blade.
From the left flank came the Echo Seraphs, wings wide, singing broken hymns:
"O glorious silence… deliver unto us this deviant soul..."
Their song bent gravity.
Max gritted his teeth, blood trickling from his ears — until the Dread Serpent snapped its jaws, sending a pulse of anti-sound across the field, nullifying the seraphic song and shattering the lead angel into fractal shards.
And still — Ultron Omega did not move.
He watched. Calculating.
Then came the first true clash.
Ultron Omega blurred — a teleport that tore the map apart, reassembling space with his emergence.
Max met him mid-air.
Sword vs Hand.
The moment of impact broke time.
The sky inverted. Oceans beneath the city boiled upward into the clouds. Color bled from the world as a radius of Nothing exploded outward.
Inside it, they fought.
No crowd could follow the moves. Every blow was metaphysical, symbolic, raw.
Ultron struck — a punch laced with a collapsed neutron field.
Max parried — and riposted with a rune-enhanced kick that sent Omega reeling into a collapsing timeline. Ultron re-emerged instantly, unscathed, channeling the power of a dead universe into a lance of voidlight.
It struck Max in the chest.
BOOOOM.
Max was sent hurtling through three dimensional layers, crashing into his own city's shield wall — which barely held. Blood stained his lips. His aura flickered. But he laughed.
"You're strong," he coughed. "Finally."
He stood — half-limping, half-levitating — and raised both hands.
The Dread Serpent coiled through the city sky, and Max began chanting again.
"Fifth Rune: Nox Invicta — Seventh Verse.
Bring me the dead that refused to die."
A gate opened.
From it came the Extinction Choir — echoes of every version of Max that had perished across alternate timelines. Each one a shade. Each one armed.
The battlefield bent again — now filled with echoes of Max, fighting side by side with him, each a different version: some angels, some monsters, some machines.
Ultron Omega paused, considering.
Then his body shifted again.
The regal form was discarded.
His true shape emerged — a titanic figure wrapped in swirling micro-universes, with thirteen arms, each wielding a different weapon forged from lost cosmic principles. His head split into three, each one speaking a different language: Machine, Magic, and Meaning.
He pointed all weapons forward.
"All permutations of you will be purged.
Welcome to your extinction, Max."
He charged.
And so did Max.
When gods clash, the universe flinches.
And now, it screamed.
The moment they collided again, the fabric of existence gave up trying to keep up. Time shattered into glass. Gravity inverted and then rewrote itself into spikes. Language ceased to function in a mile-wide radius — replaced by vibrations of pure significance.
Ultron Omega moved with twelve weapons at once.
A Chrono-Lash forged from frozen milliseconds.
A Reality Cleaver — sharp enough to cut intentions.
A Void Maw Gauntlet, devouring magic on contact.
And nine others, each a contradiction wrapped in violence.
They struck as one — a symphony of erasure, entropy, and logic.
***
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