The Good Moral Demon?

New York's dusk should have been a warm orange-red, but now it was an eerie weave of ice-blue and deep purple. The sky seemed to have been torn open, and from the cracks seeped a chill that did not belong to this dimension.

At this moment.

Zarathos knew very well that its goal was about to be achieved.

Its scheming self was about to get exactly what it wanted.

When the TVA squad leader's gaze turned toward it and the scepter in his hand lit up again, clearly preparing to execute the "pruning" procedure, Zarathos did something that left every witness dumbstruck.

For there it was.

Its massive, indistinct outline, formed from darkness and ice flame, began to rapidly shrink inward, collapsing in on itself as if it had voluntarily dismantled its defensive and offensive forms. Then it raised that "arm" condensed from darkness—not to attack, but to make a gesture that resembled "raising its hands in surrender"?

It was truly an explosive, utterly surreal sight. Most of the people around had already been frozen in time; otherwise, jaws would definitely have dropped all over the ground.

How should one put it? An ancient, violent demon god who had just treated heroes like ants was actually taking the initiative to stop resisting these mysterious visitors?

Could anything in the world be more bizarre?

The agents of the Time Variance Authority also sensed something suspicious about this.

So.

They called for backup.

And backup arrived quickly.

As the portal opened, another group of TVA agents appeared without a sound, as if they had always belonged there—standing in the middle of the ruins of Times Square, surrounded by chaos sealed in the amber of time. The agents, dressed in dark-brown uniforms, held weapons that gave off a low, droning hum.

They formed