Timeless Assassin - Chapter 908

Capítulo 908: Waiting For The Right Moment

(Execution Livestream Continuation, Mauriss’ POV)

Mauriss watched the clash with undisguised delight, chin resting lazily against the back of his knuckles as Helmuth’s axe tore through space again and Soron slipped past it by margins so thin they felt obscene, the execution platform groaning beneath their feet while fractures spider-webbed and healed and shattered again in a rhythm that felt almost musical to him.

‘Mmm… delicious.’

The thought curled through his mind as he licked his fingers slowly, savoring the spectacle the way a gourmand might savor the first bite of a long-awaited meal, because there was something uniquely intoxicating about watching two beings this powerful, this old, and this dangerous tear at the edges of reality without quite crossing the line into finality.

Mauriss did not want it to end too soon.

He wanted it to ripen.

Helmuth lunged again, aura compressing, axe coming down in a line that should have ended things outright, only for Soron to fold around it in that infuriatingly precise way of his, daggers whispering through heat and pressure without ever quite biting, as Mauriss chuckled softly while the crowd screamed in confused bursts that lagged seconds behind what was actually happening.

‘Yes… yes, take your time,’ he thought, eyes glittering. ‘Tire out each other a little more.’

He shifted slightly on his throne, posture relaxed but attention razor-sharp, because despite the outward chaos, Mauriss could feel it, that faint but persistent itch at the back of his mind that told him something here was not unfolding the way it should.

Soron was waiting for some particular event to unfold.

That much was obvious to him.

The Cult God was moving beautifully, efficiently, but not desperately, his footwork and timing restrained in a way that did not match the stakes, as though he were deliberately holding certain sequences in reserve, refusing to escalate no matter how many times Helmuth pressed him.

‘You’re coiled,’ Mauriss mused, tongue clicking softly against his teeth. ‘But what are you waiting for?’

He wondered, as the unknown possibility excited him even more.

On the other hand, Helmuth too was not moving as simply as he was trying to show.

To the untrained eye, the Berserker God looked like pure excess, fury layered on fury, axe swinging with reckless abandon as heat bled into everything around him, but Mauriss could see the pattern beneath it, the way Helmuth’s swings were not random, but testing, sweeping through specific angles, collapsing space in deliberate arcs meant to herd Soron rather than strike him outright.

‘Ah… there it is.’

Mauriss’ grin widened.

‘You’re mapping him.’

Mauriss concluded, as unlike others he could see the method behind Helmuth’s madness.

Helmuth was probing, forcing Soron to respond again and again under pressure, as he watched which escapes he favored, which lines he refused to cross, where his precision sharpened and where it dulled, as though the berserker were less interested in winning quickly and more interested in finding the one sequence that would let him tear Soron open completely.

‘You’re hunting for a weakness,’ Mauriss thought appreciatively. ‘And you’re patient enough to wait for it.’

That, more than anything, amused him.

Two Gods circling one another, each convinced the other was moments away from making a fatal mistake, while the universe held its breath and the Chakravyuh strained to keep them pinned inside a cage never meant to contain this much intent.

*Tap*

*Tap*

Mauriss’ fingers tapped idly against the armrest of his throne.

He did not move to interfere.

Not yet.

He knew better than to insert himself too early, because nothing ruined a good slaughter like impatience, and besides, the moment one of them truly gained the upper hand, the moment blood or certainty entered the exchange, he would feel it, sharp and unmistakable.

Until then, he was content to watch.

To savor.

However, much to his delight, it seemed like he wasn’t the only one, as to his side, Kaelith looked to be contemplating his own priorities.

The Eternal Sovereign stood exactly where he had been standing from the start, hands clasped calmly behind his back, posture straight, expression unreadable, as though the violence unfolding before him were nothing more than a mildly interesting distraction.

Yet Mauriss’ eyes narrowed with interest as he noticed it.

The faint gleam between Kaelith’s fingers.

Origin metal.

‘Oh… you sly old bastard.’

Mauriss’ smile stretched wider, delight bubbling up in his chest.

Kaelith was waiting too.

Not for an opening in the fight itself, but for a moment of commitment, a moment where Soron would have no room left to maneuver, no attention to spare, and no ability to react, as Kaelith prepared to strike not as a warrior, but as an executioner.

‘So that’s how you plan to end it.’

The thought made Mauriss laugh silently.

Three predators.

Three different hungers.

Soron waiting for something unseen.

Helmuth searching for the perfect tear.

Kaelith poised to deliver a blade where it would hurt most.

And him?

Mauriss leaned back, eyes gleaming with unrestrained joy.

‘So many possibilities,’ he thought, savoring each one. ‘So many beautiful ways this can break.’

His tongue traced his lower lip as his gaze flicked back to the battlefield, watching Soron slip another impossible strike, while Helmuth snarled and adjusted in fury.

‘Which of you will pull the trigger first?’

He wondered, as he tilted his head slightly, smile bordering on rapture.

‘Will Soron finally show his hand?’

‘Will Helmuth crack the shell?’

Or…

His eyes slid back to Kaelith one last time.

‘Will the old fox steal the final laugh?’

Mauriss’ shoulders shook with quiet laughter as he settled in to watch, utterly content to let the universe burn a little longer before he reached in and took his piece.

However, not even he had expected what was going to unfold next, for unbeknownst to him, Leo was now very close to opening the other end of the Dimensional Tunnel, bringing the Cult Army directly into the heart of ‘The Pit’, as amongst all his calculations, this was an outcome he had completely missed.