Everything Futile

The clash was less a battle and more a cataclysmic event. The Empyrean, backed into a corner, unleashed the full extent of his violet mana. Reality twisted and warped around him, a desperate attempt to impose order on the chaos Arthur unleashed. 

Yet, Arthur's storm was not merely an attack; it was an extension of his will. The vengeful souls tore at the Empyrean's defenses, each flickering bolt of lightning burning holes in his temporal manipulations. 

With a roar of desperation born out of millennia of unchecked power, the Empyrean shifted tactics. Temporal distortions wove themselves into a grotesque mockery of life, a pulsating barrier of mangled moments and stolen futures that absorbed Arthur's wrath even as it writhed and shrieked in agony.