End of days apocalypse everything that has a beginning has a ending

The sky above the ruined city of Bulawayo didn't just burn; it bled. Veins of jagged, neon-colored lightning ripped through the smog, the atmosphere groaning under the weight of too many collapsing realities. This was the end of days, but for James, it was just Tuesday. To James, the multiverse wasn’t a sacred mystery—it was just a chaotic, sprawling machine. He had learned how to traverse it, moving through dimensions in a violent, repeating rhythm that mirrored the cycle of a four-stroke engine: the intake of breaching a new reality, the compression of space to pinpoint his target, the explosive combustion of the kill, and the exhaust of leaving a shattered timeline in his wake. With every alternate version of himself he hunted down and eliminated, he absorbed their strength, their memories, and their lifeforce. He wasn't just surviving the apocalypse; he was causing it. He wanted to be the anomaly. The apex. The One. Standing in the dust of the ruined streets, Prime James wiped a streak of blood from his jaw. At his feet lay James-812, lifeless. The familiar, intoxicating surge of power rushed through Prime James's veins as the energy of his alternate self was absorbed into his flesh. "Impressive," a voice echoed through the rubble. "But you're running out of places to hide." Through the falling ash stepped Simon. Simon wasn’t a god. He wasn't a dimensional anomaly. He was, at his core, a police detective—but he was a detective who had watched his own world burn because of James's obsession. Simon had tracked the temporal anomalies across six different dimensions, piecing together the physics of the rifts, hunting the hunter.