RenZokuKEn ReVERsE
Wherein he made the things of the right hand into left hand and the left hand into right hand, and changed about all the marks of their nature, so that he thought those things that were not fair to be
[He claps twice - Narrative doomed?!]
Round 1 — White: Epi Curious
Irvine’s shot has already been fired. His turn spent, his confidence bleeds into the void.
From that gap, rage-born Ifrit rises.
Lionheart is drawn — but not yet swung.
Nothing… only reflection.
Then, through the stillness, Seifer steps in.
Knight under veiled time, an expression too subtle for the untrained eye.
"She speaks through me, Brother," Seifer says.
"Does she speak to you?"
Black (changed about all the marks of their nature): "All Rebels depend on willful gullibility." I draw. I lock into Seifer, Knight. And ...(Weapon draw failed: Where is ????...)
Black: "All Rebels depend on willful gullibility."
I draw.
My focus narrows—Seifer, Knight, is locked in my sight.
The strike should follow…
…but the weapon draw fails.
Where is it?
An absence where steel should be.
A gap in the chain between thought and act.
The moment hangs—Gloucester’s command hovers over the field,
Causal Neuroscience weaving its tunnel-vision snare.
Until that lock breaks, nothing else exists.
Seifer almost grins. He decides to play along now. Holding the reigns. He plays a written narrative for Black- as upstart as rebeldom itself
The edge of his mouth tugs upward—just enough to show he knows more than the bard does.
He decides to play along.
Holding the reins, keeping the pace.
For Black, he plays not a card, but a script.
A written narrative—raw, urgent,
as upstart as rebeldom itself.
"You want defiance?" his eyes seem to say.
"Then let’s make a story of it."
The board shifts,
not from power,
but from the weight of the telling.
Black: No (What happens to Seifer and his Empires’ Heirs?)
The Queen moves without hesitation.
Her decree is steel. Her gaze, execution.
Seifer’s rebellion-script is torn from the board before the ink can dry.
His heirs—those younger, untested blades—are cut down with him,
their ambitions snuffed before they could sharpen.
The Empire remains—but its future is crippled.
What was to be a dynasty of dangerous heirs is now a line ended by law,
not by the chaos of battle.
Only the old guard remains,
and their reign will grow brittle without the fire of succession.
White: Seifer: Grin-bare teeth. I stand, still... [Zantetsuken Reverse]
White: Seifer.
Grin—bare teeth.
Still as the eye of a storm.
"Come on then."
The Empress’ Butterfly hums in his grip,
its gilded wings promising beauty,
its edge promising ruin.
Zantetsuken Reverse —
not the instant sever,
but the patient inversion:
letting the blade’s hunger wind backward,
coil tight,
and snap forward when the opponent thinks it safe to breathe.
Gloucester watches.
The board feels the pause like a held breath before the killing stroke.
Black: [Draw failed.... Where is Carbuncle!? Sorceress?! ….Edea?!]
Black: Draw fails.
The deck stares back, cold and unyielding.
Carbuncle — the emerald shield, the pact of safety — is nowhere to be found.
The Red Shoes bite at his heels.
Every muscle burns, but the dance will not end.
The field tilts forward, dragging him into the teeth of White’s poised blade.
Somewhere, in a pocket of probability,
Carbuncle waits.
But not here. Not now.
White: [Fire Cross]
The moment shifts violently —
White: Fire Cross.
The blade in the comet arcs, its burning trail slicing the heavens into quadrants of light and shadow.
Momentum snaps like a rope under strain — Seifer’s stance, The Red Shoes’ compulsion, the endless drag forward — all collapse into a new vector.
Now, every player feels the tilt of the board.
Pieces once locked into dance find themselves whirling in reverse.
The battlefield’s gravity is rewritten mid-step.
Here’s the current game state as it stands:
White Side
Seifer, Knight in play — initially bound to narrative posturing, now leaning into the reversal.
The Empress’ Butterfly equipped — damage potential amplified if Gloucester is in play.
Knife in the Comet just triggered via Fire Cross — forced a change of momentum, potentially inverting movement/initiative flows.
The Red Shoes may have been neutralised or re-contextualised by the momentum shift (attack compulsion altered).
Black Side
Open with Causal Neuroscience — earlier targeting focus, but might have been disrupted by the inversion.
Gloucester (Queen) deployed — destroyed a small-power minion earlier.
No sign of Carbuncle — draw failed.
Narrative stance: positioning as Rebel archetype, holding out under shifting momentum.
Board Effects & Meta State
Momentum Vector Reversed — the inversion effect is thematic and mechanical, changing initiative or the order of resolution.
Damage Threats — The Empress’ Butterfly is primed for a 4-damage strike if Gloucester stays in play.
Narrative Tone — Seifer is now holding the reins of a deliberate inversion, controlling tempo rather than reacting.
Black’s Strategy — narrative leverage as “upstart rebeldom” is now under pressure, might have to adapt or risk collapse.
Black: [Rough Divide]
Black’s [Rough Divide] using The Duelist’s Promise shifts the board state sharply:
Updated Game State
White Side
Seifer, Knight still mounted in narrative control but now faces a direct Mark for the Blade threat.
The Empress’ Butterfly remains live — the damage boost from Gloucester’s presence still applies, but The Duelist’s Promise could exile that card if targeted.
Knife in the Comet momentum shift just played — may now be contested by Black’s targeted exile threat.
Black Side
The Duelist’s Promise enters as a hard control pivot —
Passive cuts power on first attack each round.
Active exile potential makes it dangerous to commit key assets into combat.
Previous Causal Neuroscience lockdown effect could stack with this, creating a selective killbox on White’s board.
Narrative position: Black now has a blade explicitly pointed at White’s most dangerous card.
Meta Flow
The previous momentum inversion from Knife in the Comet is countered partially by Rough Divide — Black can now act decisively rather than purely respond.
A tension lock forms: if White overextends with The Empress’ Butterfly strike, Black could bait and exile it next turn.
This could be a decisive swing turn if either side overcommits.
The two men stood at the edge of the broken causeway, the air heavy with the smell of spent magic. Seifer’s coat hung open, his blade low but poised, the faint shimmer of the Empress’ Butterfly folded along its edge. The Duelist held his ground, both swords raised, one angled for the heart, the other for the throat.
"One blade for honor," the Duelist murmured, "one for vengeance."
Seifer smirked, the tilt of his head somewhere between disdain and amusement. "I’ve seen both. They bleed the same."
The first step was Seifer’s—Knife in the Comet momentum breaking into a feint. The Duelist met it without moving his feet, letting the passive curse bite into Seifer’s strike. The weight of the blow faltered; the First Cut is Owed stripped its edge.
But Seifer didn’t recoil. His momentum twisted like flame over oil—Ifrit’s rage hidden in his wrist, turning the falter into a whip-fast reverse. The Butterfly sang once, twice—metal against metal, sparks gilding the air.
The Duelist absorbed both, waiting, watching. Then he marked the Knight—Mark for the Blade—and on the next clash, slipped his off-hand sword under Seifer’s guard. Steel found leather, then cloth, then skin.
The strike wasn’t deep, but the rule was absolute: marked prey that bled to him would be exiled. Seifer staggered, the world around him thinning, colors draining into sepia shadow.
“You fight well,” the Duelist said, his voice low, almost regretful. “But you fight for yourself. I fight for the oath.”
Seifer’s smirk didn’t fade, even as his form dissolved into nothingness. “Guess we both win, then.”
The Duelist stood alone on the causeway, both blades lowered, the silence of victory as heavy as the sky above.
Victor: The Duelist’s Promise — by discipline, by oath, and by the inexorable law of the mark.
Goddess of the Air and Fresh Cut Grass: ...Poor, poor boy... ...Lowlifes. ...Shameless filthy wretches. How you celibrate my ascension with such joy. Hailing the very one whom you have condemned for generations. Have you no shame? What happened to the evil, ruthless sorceress from your fantasies? The cold-blooded tyrant that slaughtered countless men and destroyed many nations? Where is she now?
She stands before your very eyes to become your new ruler.
HAHAHAHAHA.
The price for your meddling is death beyond death. I shall send you to a dimension beyond your imagining. There, I will reign, and you will be my slaves for eternity. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Whom shall I exterminate first!? I'll start with you three!
The most powerful GF... ...You shall... ...SUFFER...!
HAHAHA...
The GF's true power... Allow me... To show you...!
Ultimecia: Griever! Make them bleed! I shall junction myself... unto Griever. I am Ultimecia. Time shall compress... ...All existence denied. Reflect on your... Childhood... Your sensation... Your words... Your emotions... Time, it will not wait... No matter how hard you hold on...it escapes you. And...
The field darkens, and the air takes on that strange, electric taste of collapsing timelines.
Griever’s roar cuts through everything — through the tension, through the lingering afterimage of Seifer’s defeat — a primal sound that seems to claw at the very fabric of the moment.
Ultimecia steps forward, her voice half-reverence, half-command. The beast’s shadow stretches impossibly far across the board. Cards ripple in its wake, as if the game itself struggles to contain its weight.
White and Black alike pause — not out of truce, but because the arrival of this changes the duel entirely.
The Duelist’s Promise narrows his eyes; his oath does not bend to monstrosities, but the sheer force of Griever’s junctioned power is no ordinary trial.
Somewhere, a goddess laughs — the sound of someone who knows she already owns the ending.
Black: [Sophia Ghadoushi and Her Dog Daisy] Nothing's cheaper than something free.
The moment Sophia enters play, the board feels like it exhales.
Her presence isn’t the bombast of Griever or the raw steel of the Duelist — it’s the quiet, disarming inevitability of someone who sees the whole map, all at once.
She steps between the spiraling chaos: Seifer’s shadow still lingers, the Duelist’s vow still poised like a held breath, Griever still snarling in the junction’s grip.
With one calm gesture, she plucks at the weave of the game — exchanging a card here, locking another into stillness there.
Ultimecia pauses mid-command, her rhythm broken.
The board’s currents shift.
That “free” move? It costs Black nothing — but it costs White their momentum.
Nothing, indeed, is cheaper than something free.
White: You've become just a memory. Will they... Will they talk about me this way if I die, too? Using past tense, saying whatever they want? So this is what death is all about... ...Not for me. I won't have it!!!
Narrative Effect in Play:
Black’s immediate storyline—the build-up of Griever and Sophia’s strategic lock—gets yanked out of sequence.
All of Black’s story-based effects are now pushed back one turn, which is lethal when you’re trying to maintain pressure.
Tone of Play:
White’s statement is almost personal—this isn’t just tactical, it’s a refusal to become another forgotten name on the board. The use of Macbeth here feels like an act of narrative self-preservation, buying White precious breathing room.
Right now, the field feels like:
Black has immense latent power, but it’s sitting in the wings for at least a turn.
White’s shaping the pace, forcing Black to either burn resources early or risk losing the duel’s initiative entirely.
The Field Darkens
The air between Seifer’s stance and Macbeth’s march is thick — not with the heat of combat, but with the weight of who gets to tell the story. Griever’s breath rattles the stars above, Sophia’s calm radiance glows in the distance, but their power hums idle, held back by Macbeth’s deliberate hand.Seifer’s Advance
Seifer moves first — sword angled, grin like a slash in the night. The pressure is physical, kinetic. He’s not waiting for the perfect strike; he’s pushing the tempo, trying to force Macbeth to draw early and break the rhythm. Every step he takes is an accusation:
"You think your words can stop my blade?"Macbeth’s Response
Macbeth doesn’t flinch. His eyes hold no spark of youth’s defiance, only the heavy certainty of a man who has rewritten too many endings to be surprised anymore. His sword stays low. He doesn’t meet Seifer’s attacks with steel — he moves the arena. One shift of footing, and the duel’s narrative slides sideways. The moment Seifer’s blow would land, the scene has already changed.The audience—players, pawns, and GFs alike—find themselves a step earlier in the tale, the script torn, the next page missing.
The Collision
Seifer’s edge cuts nothing but wind, momentum bleeding away into Macbeth’s crafted delay. Griever snarls, but cannot yet be unleashed; Sophia’s command is suspended mid-breath.Seifer is still standing. Still dangerous. But now he’s no longer dictating the rhythm — Macbeth is.
And in duels like these, rhythm is the kill.
Black: Seifer the White. "I love battles. I fear nothing. The way I look at it, as long as you make it out of a battle alive, you're one step closer to fulfilling your dream. [Under the most vicious gaze of supremacy under betrayal] This is the scene where you swear your undying love for me!?
The Reduction Play
Black drops Reduction with calculated malice, linking Seifer and Macbeth in an unholy pact. Their fates are now bound — if one falls, the other is dragged down with them.
The Atmosphere
The air feels brittle. This is no longer about swords clashing or stories outmaneuvering each other. This is a slow noose tightening around both their necks. Seifer smirks — not because he’s safe, but because he now has the power to turn Macbeth’s own narrative weight against him.
Seifer’s Monologue
His voice cuts across the board like the scrape of steel on stone:
"I love battles. I fear nothing. As long as I walk away breathing, I walk closer to my dream. But you, Macbeth… under this gaze, under betrayal’s shadow — this is where you swear your undying hatred for me, isn’t it? This is where your legend turns… and burns."
The Danger
The link means every strike from here risks mutual destruction. Neither can commit fully without gambling their own survival. The audience feels it — the game’s tempo slows, but every move now has lethal stakes.
White: ...SeeD... SeeD......SeeD...... SeeD, SeeD, SeeD! Kurse all SeeDs. Swarming like lokusts akross generations. You disgust me. The world was on the brink of that ever-elusive 'time kompression'. Insolent fools! Your vain krusade ends here, SeeDs. The price for your meddling is death beyond death. I shall send you to a dimension beyond your imagining. There, I will reign, and you will be my slaves for eternity. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Whom shall I exterminate first!? I'll start with you three!
The Battlefield Stalls — and Then Shifts
The Reduction link still binds Seifer and Macbeth, a mutual threat hanging in the air. But then, The Matriarch enters — not with a sword, but with the authority of generations behind her. Her voice doesn’t cut like steel; it strangles like fate.
Her Proclamation
"SeeD... SeeD... SEED! Swarming like locusts across generations. Your meddling ends here. You think you’ve won because you’ve delayed the inevitable? Time was mine. Compression was mine. You stole it from me, and now you’ll pay… not with your lives, but with your eternities."
The crowd of shadowed followers at her back echoes the sentiment — a wall of inevitability pressing in. She doesn’t care about the Reduction link; to her, both Seifer and Macbeth are simply pieces to be swept from the board in one motion.
The Threat to Both
Because of the Reduction, if she strikes down Macbeth in her march toward Seifer, both will collapse. This forces an uneasy alliance between the rivals — if they don’t coordinate, they’ll both fall under her judgment.
The Shift in Power
The Matriarch’s play changes the game’s axis. The duel is no longer about who outmaneuvers whom — it’s now about who survives her.
White: HAHAAHA Thime magic BoY.
-Destroy it. DESTROY BLACK MY CHILDREN!
It looks like the White side has just activated a major synergy play — “The Hart of the Left” has likely been sitting idle, building up charge counters, and now that “The Lion of the Right” has entered, those charges can be transferred for a massive effect.
Given the White player’s command — “Destroy Black my children!” — this seems like a coordinated, possibly game-ending push targeting the Black side’s key permanents.
If I narrate the moment, it would be:
The battlefield shakes as the Hart’s long-hoarded energy surges into the Lion. A golden mane erupts in light, and time itself bends under White’s command. Black’s forces — even the mighty Seifer and Griever — find their powers unraveling, threads pulled from the tapestry of the fight.
The field lies shrouded in the electric stillness before the storm.
On the Black side, Seifer stands defiant, Reduction tethering his fate to a single other card — an unspoken pact of destruction. Sophia’s calm insight, Macbeth’s twisted foresight, and Griever’s nightmare form bristle against the oppressive pressure of White’s rising tide.
Across the board, White’s camp breathes in unison. The Matriarch’s arm remains outstretched, commanding the storm to break. Macbeth’s march has already disrupted Black’s rhythm, Knife in the Comet hangs in the air, and the Duelist’s Promise glimmers with readiness.
Then — it happens.
The Hart of the Left, dormant for what felt like ages, shivers. One by one, luminous charge counters fall away, spilling into the waiting form of the Lion of the Right. The Lion’s golden hide ripples with pure, burning energy. This is no simple activation — this is a culmination.
Time seems to slow. Ultimecia’s voice, a layered chorus, hisses curses across generations — “SeeD… SeeD… SeeD!” — but her power fractures under the weight of the Lion’s roar. The Reduction link, a fragile black cord between Seifer and his anchor, snaps like wet thread. One card is destroyed. The tether drags its pair into oblivion.
The Lion pounces.
Griever’s massive frame buckles under the assault, the nightmare lion dissipating into shadow. Sophia’s wisdom cannot outpace the tide; Macbeth’s schemes are washed away before the final act can play.
When the light fades, Seifer is on one knee. His smirk is still there, but it’s different — not victory, not even defiance. Just acknowledgment.
“You’ve made it out alive,” he says, voice a whisper over the smoldering field. “One step closer to your dream…”
The duel is over.
Victor: White.
Black: Ellone.... I.... ....Air.... [Tank: 1 minutes remaining] (In one splintered revelation, surface crimson revolves into resolution before Black....) Black: ....Ragnarok.....
The battlefield was no longer earthbound—it stretched into an ungraspable geometry of time, noise, and fractured purpose.
The White’s Lion stood locked with the Hart’s patient shadow, both prowling and waiting, feeding each other’s inevitability. Above, The Matriarch’s voice was still thundering, binding the SeeDs to her command.
Yet across the board, Black’s Phantom Vector drifted—unreachable, untargetable—seeding distortion into every thought. Noise swelled like a tide, the signal’s precision slipping through every grasping hand. Beside it, Bell’s Compass pulsed with a strange gravitation, its arrow fixed on a point beyond space and measure.
Seifer’s eyes narrowed. “Ellone…” The name was not strategy—it was memory. But the Vector did not care for sentiment, nor did the Compass. They aligned, invisible threads taut between them.
One minute left on the tank.
The Ragnarok descended—not as a ship, but as a conclusion.
In the last breath of the turn, the non-local vector resolved. No blade struck. No roar sounded. There was only a shift—instant and absolute—where the White’s empire of force collapsed into a singular truth: the signal was gone.
Black wins.
White: HAHAHAHA YOU THINK YOU CAN ESCAPE TYMAGIC! HAHAHA. YOU CANNOT LEAVE. YOU WILL ALL SERVE ME FOREVER. KOMPRESSED. FOREVER.
The duel reaches its fever pitch.
Seifer, unbowed, stands astride the fractured timeline. His Reduction link lashes the Duelist’s Griever to Sophia, forcing wisdom to bear the weight of the beast’s fury. Each strike against one reverberates through the other.
The Duelist, reading the weave of the board, sets Macbeth to march—narrative arcs twist, the foreordained fall delayed by a single, cruel beat. The Hart and Lion, now united, surge with gathered charges, threatening a cascade of power.
But Seifer is not without cunning. With The Phantom Vector, he floods the Duelist’s channels with noise, clouding intent. The Duelist counters with Bell’s Compass, seeking the non-local victory—an escape beyond the battlefield’s geometry.
The seconds fall away. A Reverse Shrike alights, letting the Duelist deploy The Queen of Omelas, her shadow long and her choice inevitable. Yet Seifer, smiling that near-grin, has already fixed the ending.
The Reduction link collapses.
Griever and Sophia vanish in tandem, their mutual annihilation tearing out the Duelist’s central strategy. The forest Macbeth set to march arrives too late; the Hart’s charges dissipate into the compressed, suffocating air.
Victor: Seifer, by surgical removal and temporal choke, leaving the Duelist staring at an unfinished story.
Black: Seifer the White: Just long enough to get the job done properly. Die witch!
Seifer’s blade of will arcs clean through the collapsing weave of time compression, the Centripetal Babel at his back pulling all strands of meaning inward toward him.
Each tick of the tower’s silent ascent grants him stability, anchoring his presence against the witch’s unraveling magic. The Duelist’s forces, already scattered by the collapse of Reduction’s link, now find their footing swallowed in the spiral pull—every gambit, every spell, drawn toward Seifer’s core momentum.
With each step, he closes the gap.
The witch’s laughter falters, syllables caught and spun back into the tower’s tightening orbit. Forever is suddenly very short.
Seifer raises his weapon, eyes set.
“Just long enough,” he says, voice steady as the pull becomes a singularity.
And then—
Cut.
Time compression bursts apart into light and silence. The witch is gone. Only Seifer remains, breathing, the job done properly.
White: "I'll be here..." -"Why...?" "I'll be 'waiting'... here..." -"For what?" "I'll be waiting... for you...so... if you come here... you'll find me". -"I promise".
Ultimecia: WHaT HavE You!? DonE To Be? My TyM... GreiVer.... DeFeND ME!
The Blade and th Knight of All Woe steps forth, the hush before his charge deafening in the wake of Seifer’s shattering of time’s compression.
The moon hangs fat and still above, pale witness to the one strike that will be remembered beyond ages.
Ultimecia recoils, her voice fracturing across centuries. “WHaT HavE You!? DonE To Be? My TyM… GreiVer… DeFEND ME!”
But the Knight does not answer. He waits—because that is his nature. One heartbeat. Two. The Vigil before the hoofbeats.
And then—he rides.
His first and only attack is silent to the ear but deafening to the world’s fabric. It cannot be stopped, cannot be met. Griever, her monstrous guardian, surges forward—and is cut down mid-stride, not by force, but by inevitability.
Steel pierces the heart of the witch’s reign.
The knight draws the card of destiny from her fall, then vanishes—his purpose spent, his name echoing only in the memory of those who saw the strike.
The last threads of Ultimecia’s time magic bleed away into nothing.
And in that stillness, the White’s promise lingers—“I’ll be here.”
Shade:
Ending Narrative Context
A climactic battle is unfolding between White (the SeeDs) and Black (Ultimecia’s forces). Time compression magic is in effect, threatening to trap everyone eternally. Both sides have deployed high-impact artifacts, champions, and enchantments, creating a tightly interlinked field state. Ultimecia’s rhetoric grows unstable as her key defenses falter, while SeeD allies coordinate for a decisive strike.
Key Cards & Effects in Play
White Side
The Hart of the Left + The Lion of the Right (Duality Pair) – The Hart has been accruing charges, transferring them to the Lion for potentially explosive activation. Drawing power triggers on charge accumulation.
The Matriarch – Suggests leadership and protection for allies, potentially guiding unit positioning or morale.
Reverse Shrike – Allowed an extra card play this turn, enabling a faster combo deployment.
Centripetal Babel – Provides recurring stability gain each turn, anchoring White’s position.
Blade and the Knight of All Woe – A vigil champion primed for an unblockable first strike, likely aiming to land the killing blow on a high-value Black target.
Black Side
Reduction – Linked two cards so that removing one will remove the other, likely serving as a defensive or offensive contingency.
The Phantom Vector – Untargetable, increases opponents’ noise-to-signal ratio, hampering precision plays.
Bell’s Compass – Cannot be attacked, has an alternate win condition through resolving a non-local vector—threatening a sudden win.
Dark Entropy – Forced both players to discard top 5 cards at start, accelerating attrition.
Daemon of Lips’ Surrender (KALTHEIS) – An ominous presence, possibly a high-impact passive or trigger when other pieces fall.
Momentum & Tactics
White has both stability growth (Babel) and charge synergies (Hart/Lion), plus an unblockable champion ready to strike.
Black’s board control hinges on untargetable/unalterable vectors (Phantom Vector, Bell’s Compass) and complex linkages (Reduction).
Ultimecia’s dialogue suggests desperation—Griever has been called for defense, indicating her last major line before collapse.
Both sides are in endgame posture: Black is one alternate vector resolution away from victory, White is poised for a final strike that could remove key Black permanents and unravel the time compression lock.
Black: (Final Move) They are the rising storm, and you the Flare
Narrative Play-by-Play
The battlefield trembles under compressed time, each second stretching into eternity. Ultimecia’s last defenses waver — Bell’s Compass pulses with unstable vector energy, Phantom Vector ripples at the edge of perception, and Griever stands ready to intercept.
Black’s final move is a desperate gambit: Agni, the Fireblade Champion, bursts from the timestream with Rush, bypassing summoning delay. Flames lick the air as he lunges toward White’s champions — aiming to cripple their last attack before the alternate win condition resolves.
But White has Blade and the Knight of All Woe already primed — his vigil spent, his first strike unblockable — and Centripetal Babel feeding stability into the heart of the formation.
The Hart of the Left has built its charges over turns, feeding the Lion of the Right, which now roars with stored momentum. As the Lion charges forward, Reverse Shrike’s earlier extra play ensures the Queen of Omelas is already weaving protective command across the field.
Sequence:
Knight of All Woe executes his single, unblockable strike — bypassing Griever’s defense, hitting directly into Ultimecia’s vulnerable position.
Lion of the Right, empowered by the Hart’s full charge transfer, follows through, shattering Bell’s Compass before its vector resolution can complete.
Agni lashes out, but is intercepted by White’s stability buffers and counter-champions, unable to disrupt the momentum in time.
With both Bell’s Compass and Griever gone, time compression falters — the Phantom Vector collapses, unable to hold position without its paired anchor.
Ultimecia reaches out into nothing, her voice breaking into a hundred timelines at once —
"My TyM... GreiVer..."
The compression shatters. The SeeDs stand victorious.