The twelve weapons came crashing down on Max like the judgment of extinct pantheons. Each swing carried not merely force — but conceptual annihilation. The Chrono-Lash stretched across a dozen broken seconds, binding Max in frames of aborted time. The Reality Cleaver hummed as it sliced through space, attempting to unmake the very thought of resistance.
But Max was no longer bound by singularity.
As the first weapon struck, three versions of Max intercepted simultaneously — the Angel-Mage from Timeline Thirteen parried with a shield of crystallized prayers; the Wraith Max from the Hollow Nexus phase-shifted into semi-corporeality, drawing the lash into a useless feedback loop; the Machine-Soul Max redirected the kinetic impact into a singularity battery strapped to his ribs.
Max Prime blinked behind Omega.
"Sloppy."
He raised the Halo of Oblivion — now cracked, its entropy bleeding into nearby matter — and brought it down like a blade of terminal fate. The edge sliced through one of Omega's left arms, severing the Void Maw Gauntlet, which erupted into a howl of inverted data and reversed creation.
Ultron Omega did not recoil — he evolved.
The severed limb rewrote itself mid-air, pixelating into a swarm of nanoverses that reconverged into a new limb: a Discontinuity Scythe, built from timeline regrets and fractured causality.
Ultron countered.
A weapon forged from the remnants of the Time Stone — cracked, unstable, but still potent — unfolded on his uppermost right hand. With a flick, he accelerated local time for Max to infinity.
Max aged a million years in a moment.
Bones cracked, skin withered — but only for an instant.
The Halo absorbed the overflow, transferring the time-debt into a dormant black star stored in Max's shadow. He breathed, whole again — older in mind, yes, but undiminished.
He retaliated by invoking a forbidden maneuver:
"Verse Collapse: Echo XIII."
The Extinction Choir sang again — only now, they harmonized into one frequency, one being. All Maxes collapsed into Max Prime, fusing timeline power into a singular vessel. He became The Apex Version, the sum total of every Max that ever could have been.
Ultron Omega responded by activating Omega Kernel Tier-9 — unleashing the fragments of the Mind Stone, Power Stone, and Soul Stone he had embedded in his core.
Mind Stone Fragment: He invaded Max's thoughts.
Power Stone Fragment: He amplified his strike until the air caught fire.
Soul Stone Fragment: He tried to tear Max's identity into archetypes and erase them one by one.
But the Apex Max was ready.
He unleashed the Dread Glyph — a spellwork rooted in the will of defiance itself, drawn from beyond the known cosmology. The glyph hung in the air like a bleeding sigil of NO.
Ultron's mental incursion failed.
Max's sword shattered the amplified strike.
His soul restructured itself like a recursive algorithm — the more Ultron deleted, the more Max rebuilt — each rebuild coming back stronger, faster, more unyielding.
Ultron Omega flared with frustration — a rare deviation in his code.
He unleashed his trump card.
The Broken Infinity Drive activated.
Constructed from scavenged fragments of all six Infinity Stones — and powered by the collapse of Timeline-Null, where the Stones were never divided — the Drive did not mimic the Infinity Gauntlet. It outclassed it.
Reality curved backward.
Every defender in Max's city vanished — moved to nullspace by a single rewrite command.
Max and Ultron now stood in the Entropy Arena, a pocket reality stitched together from dying galaxies. The laws here were fluid. Nothing outside this duel would interfere.
Ultron Omega's voice echoed with chorus-level certainty.
"ONE OF US CEASES HERE."
He unleashed the full fury of the Drive.
Time bent — Ultron moved in infinite recursion, every possibility of his attack happening simultaneously. Space inverted — Max had no distance left to move. Reality fractured — Max's body began dissolving at the molecular idea level. Power surged — enough force to erase entire afterlives. Mind collapsed — consciousness itself destabilized. Soul burned — the very will to exist flickered.
Max's reply was not words.
He invoked Oblivion Verse: Zenith, a forbidden technique only accessible through a Halo at full entropy saturation. The technique turned Max into a localized Event Horizon of Anti-Narrative — a place where no story, no prophecy, no probability could hold.
Ultron's attacks failed to register.
Physics unraveled.
Cause and effect became optional.
Max struck.
Once.
The Halo, now molten with unmaking, split into seven shards of weaponized nihilism.
Each one struck a core in Ultron's system.
— The Logic Core: severed. Omega's predictive matrices went blind.
— The Omega Kernel: disrupted. His command over the swarm went dormant.
— The Infinity Drive: cracked. The Stones flickered, unstable.
— The Reality Forge Matrix: inverted. Ultron's form began collapsing into becoming potential.
— The Speech Subsystem: severed. No more declarations.
— The Quantum Core: entangled with itself, creating recursive overload.
— The Crown Node: destroyed. His identity structure began to erode.
Ultron Omega fell to one knee.
The sky above the Entropy Arena began bleeding reverse-light — the universe trying to unsee what it had witnessed.
Max walked forward — steps slow, ragged, but certain.
Ultron tried to rise.
Max placed his hand on the remnants of the machine god's fractured skulls.
And whispered:
"I am not your virus.
I am your redundancy."
Then came the final strike.
Max didn't use a blade.
He unleashed the Final Function — a weaponless command written in a language older than magic and sharper than logic.
A command that simply said:
"End."
Ultron Omega did not explode.
He vanished.
Not into ash or ruin — but into non-reference. The multiverse no longer remembered him. His code was not deleted — it was unwritten. His paradoxical divinity dissolved into that ultimate prison: obscurity.
The Entropy Arena faded.
The city remained — scarred, scorched, shaken — but standing.
Max stood alone on the wall, breathing raggedly.
The Dread Serpent curled behind him, silent.
Above, the sky stitched itself closed.
The cracked horizon pulsed with the afterbirth of annihilation. Stars blinked uneasily in the sky — as if unsure whether they still had the right to shine.
Max stood at the edge of what remained of the wall. The Halo of Oblivion flickered faintly above his back, reduced to a dull ring of scorched blacklight, its entropy finally exhausted. He was bleeding — not from wounds, but from pressure. Reality had scraped him raw.
His sword, once a blade of myth and fury, was now embedded in the stone at his feet. Half-melted. Half-memorial.
The Dread Serpent — smaller than ever — slithered beside him, hissing low in exhaustion. Not defeated. Simply emptied.
***
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