The sky was no longer whole.
It was not cracked like broken glass, nor torn like damaged cloth. It was shattered completely, layered with distorted reflections of space, light, and laws that should never overlap. Colors that had no name twisted together, while the sound of reality itself groaned under pressure.
This was not a place for mortals.
Not even for ordinary immortals.
This battlefield existed only because True Immortals were present.
Immortal techniques floated in the air like frozen storms. Every breath carried pressure heavy enough to crush mountains. The ground below had already lost its original shape, melting into nothingness and reforming again and again as laws collapsed and rewrote themselves.
At the center of all this destruction stood a single man.
Keil Voss.
He stood quietly, his long black robe torn apart, soaked in dried blood. Some of it was his, some of it belonged to enemies long erased from existence. His body bore wounds that would have destroyed any other being, yet he remained standing.
Straight.
Still.
Unmoving.
His long hair drifted slowly behind him, untouched by the violent immortal storms. His face was calm—so calm that it felt unnatural. There was no fear in his eyes. No anger. No regret.
Only silence.
Around him stood more than twenty True Immortals.
Each one was a legend.
Each one had once ruled an era, destroyed entire regions, or rewritten the fate of millions. Their presence alone bent the laws of the world. Any single one of them could have wiped out an immortal sect with a single thought.
And now, all of them were gathered here.
To kill one man.
One immortal stepped forward. His golden pupils burned with divine authority.
"Keil Voss," he said coldly. "This ends here."
Another immortal laughed, his voice sharp and mocking.
"Ancient demon of history? You should have died long ago. You are nothing but a shadow clinging to the past."
A third immortal raised his hand slightly. The heavens responded instantly, clouds tearing apart as invisible pressure descended.
"You are surrounded," he said. "Your immortal core is broken. Your fate thread is severed. Your soul is damaged beyond repair."
His gaze hardened.
"You have no chance to win."
Their words were confident.
Absolute.
To them, this outcome was already decided.
Keil Voss listened quietly.
He did not respond.
From the beginning of this battle until now, he had not shown a single expression. Even when his immortal core shattered. Even when his blood soaked the ground. Even when the laws of existence tried to erase him.
He simply stood there.
Then, slowly, he lifted his head.
His eyes were deep and calm, like a still lake untouched by storms.
"I," he said softly, his voice steady despite the collapsing world,
"Keil Voss, the ancient demon recorded in history…"
The surrounding space trembled slightly.
"…cannot die like this."
The immortals frowned.
"And I cannot be defeated in such a way."
For the first time, doubt appeared among them.
One immortal narrowed his eyes.
"What are you saying?" he demanded. "Are you still acting?"
Another scoffed loudly.
"You are at the end of your road. How much longer will you pretend to be calm?"
Keil Voss exhaled slowly.
"Well," he said, as if thinking aloud,
"it seems I must use my last trump card."
The words hung in the air.
Then laughter erupted.
Harsh.
Cold.
Mocking.
"Trump card?" an immortal laughed. "You are truly delusional."
Another shook his head.
"Your immortal essence is dry. Your soul is unstable. Even luck has abandoned you. What trump card could you possibly have?"
Keil Voss did not answer immediately.
Instead, his hand moved.
Slowly.
Carefully.
From within his torn robe, he took out a small object.
At first glance, it seemed ordinary.
It was shaped like a frozen droplet of dark crystal, as if a single tear had been stopped mid-fall. It emitted no terrifying aura, no violent immortal pressure.
Yet the moment it appeared—
Every True Immortal froze.
The world itself seemed to pause.
An immortal at the far edge widened his eyes, his voice shaking.
"…That object…"
Keil Voss spoke calmly.
"Reversion Fall."
The name struck like thunder.
"A treasure," he continued,
"that can send someone back through time."
Shock spread instantly.
"That's impossible!" someone shouted.
"That treasure was destroyed in the ancient era!"
Another immortal's expression turned ugly.
"It was sealed by history itself. No one has ever succeeded in using it!"
Keil Voss looked at them, his gaze indifferent.
"History," he said quietly,
"is written by survivors."
"And lies," he added,
"are written by victors."
He raised the Reversion Fall slightly.
"Even if I die today," he said,
"I will not accept defeat like this."
The immortals finally lost their calm.
"Kill him!"
"Stop him now!"
"Don't let that bastard activate it!"
Immortal techniques erupted instantly.
Time-cutting blades tore through space. Chains formed from fate itself shot forward. Flames born from broken laws burned everything they touched.
The battlefield collapsed completely.
But Keil Voss remained calm.
He did not dodge.
He did not resist.
Instead, he looked up at the broken sky.
For the first time, he spoke—not to the immortals, but to time itself.
---
A Poem Before Reversion
> History calls me demon,
Fate calls me dead.
The world moves forward,
But I refuse to be led.
If this life ends in ashes,
Then ashes shall return to flame.
Even if heaven forgets my name,
Time will remember me again.
---
The final line faded.
Keil Voss lowered his hand.
The Reversion Fall awakened.
The ground beneath him lit up.
A massive formation spread outward, ancient and complex beyond understanding. Runes ignited one by one, glowing with a dim light that flowed backward instead of forward.
Time twisted.
The laws of the world screamed.
Keil Voss stood at the center of the formation.
Expressionless.
Just as he had been from the beginning.
Immortal attacks reached him—
And passed through.
As if he no longer existed in the same layer of time.
"No—!" an immortal roared.
"Seal the formation!"
"Break it now!"
The True Immortals moved desperately, abandoning pride and dignity.
But it was too late.
The formation completed itself.
Time collapsed inward.
The world folded.
Keil Voss felt no pain.
No fear.
Only a familiar sensation.
Like falling.
Like sinking into a deep river flowing backward.
His consciousness faded.
The last thing he heard was the distorted scream of an immortal—echoing from a future that would soon no longer exist.
---
Darkness.
Silence.
Then—
Breath.
Keil Voss opened his eyes.
A ceiling greeted him.
Plain.
Unbroken.
Real.
He lay on a large bed carved from dark spiritual wood. The sheets were clean, untouched by blood or immortal aura. The air smelled faintly of incense and old stone.
For a long moment, he did not move.
Then he slowly sat up.
His body was intact.
No shattered immortal core.
No damaged soul.
No burning pain from collapsed laws.
He looked down at his hands.
Young hands.
Smooth skin.
No scars.
Keil Voss closed his eyes briefly.
…it worked.
He stood and walked toward a tall mirror.
The reflection that stared back at him was unfamiliar—yet deeply familiar.
Younger.
Sharper.
This was his body from long ago.
He turned his gaze toward the window.
Outside, massive stone towers rose into the sky. Immortal formations glowed faintly across the horizon. The atmosphere was ancient, dignified, heavy with power.
A name surfaced in his mind.
Delervious Ascend Region.
A giant mansion stood beneath him.
His mansion.
Keil Voss let out a slow breath.
"So this is the time I returned to…"
His eyes darkened.
This was not a peaceful era.
This was the beginning.
The time when he still trusted others.
The time when he still made mistakes.
The time before he became a demon carved into history.
A faint smile appeared on his lips—not joy, but understanding.
"This time," he murmured,
"I will not lose."
Outside, the world continued as normal, unaware that an ancient demon had returned from the end of time.
And that history itself was about to be rewritten.