The loom is broken, the thread is torn,
To find the place where we were born.
A lung of soot, a hand of clay,
To walk the ruins of the day.
The weaver sits upon the height,
To watch the fading of the light.
For in the stitching of the soul,
The only part is greater than the whole.
The white void did not return to the purple-black of the old Abyss. It became something else—a turbid air of grey ash and drifting violet embers.
Daxian sat upon the Throne of the Remainder, but it was no longer a seat of "Absolute-Definition." He had smashed apart the silver marble with his meat-hand, turning the throne into a jagged, ugly pile of shattered bones and rusted iron. He was a miserable state of a sovereign. His skull was partially exploded, and the violet crystal in the gap hummed with a low, jagged frequency that caused the surrounding space to crack and bleed.
His eyeballs had popped out, resting deep in their sockets as twin pits of blood red fire. He was unhindered by the "First Principle," but his body was filled with injuries. He looked at his hand—the human one—and saw the meat paste of the Architects still clinging to his fingernails.
"Dax... the... portal... is... closing."
Vane's voice was a miserable neighing rasp. The Lord of the Forge was kneeling at the base of the throne, his bones fractured in many places, his skin opened and flesh split until he looked like a statue of raw, exposed muscle. He was intensely struggling to hold the "Source-Gate" open with a single, bent iron pylon. His gaze was so blood red it was difficult to stare at it directly.
"If we... don't... go... now... we... perish... in... the... Origin," Vane wheezed, coughing out a breath of turbid air.
Daxian didn't move. He looked at the vast, empty expanse of the Home-Reality. It was no longer a "Temple." It was a graveyard of logic-dust.
"The... pipes... Vane," Daxian whispered, his voice an enormous piercing of the silence. "They... need... the... Soot."
The Fighting Scene: The Final Extraction
The slaughter reached its climax as the "Automated-Cleaners" of the Origin-System manifested for one last massacre.
They weren't Architects; they were "Antibodies of the Absolute," swarms of silver needles that moved with lightning speed. They didn't have souls. They only had the ambition to "Delete." They charged forward from the white horizon, their enormous force turning the silver dust into a chaotic battle situation.
Vane laughed malevolently, his smile of disdain fixed on the swarm.
"I'VE... GOT... ONE... MORE... MASSACRE... IN... ME!" Vane roared.
He didn't have his hammer, so he smashed down ruthlessly with the iron pylon. The enormous shock of the blow smashed apart a hundred needles, turning their silver-light into meat paste and logic-dust. Vane was unhindered by the needles that pierced into skin and flesh of his legs. He racked his brains to find the most brutal swing, peeling the skin ruthlessly off the air itself.
"COME ON!" Vane screamed, coughing out blood. "IS THIS THE CLIMAX?"
Silas was a miserable state of data-bleed. He was intensely struggling to keep the Sun-Eater's remaining fragments from perishing. He projected a wave of "Pure-Grief" at the swarm. The needles smashed apart, their skulls exploded (if a needle had a skull), and they crashed heavily into the ground as their "Logic" was bombarded by human memory.
"The... blood river... it's... flowing... back!" Silas wailed, his flesh split along his seams.
Daxian rose from the broken throne.
He didn't use a technique. He charged forward with the enormous force of a lunatic taking risks. He slammed mercilessly into the center of the swarm, his meat-arm stretching out to wreak havoc.
CRACK.
Daxian's bones jutted out of the body, his skin opened, his flesh and blood reduced to dust. He laughed madly, a smile of disdain for the "Antibodies." He grabbed a handful of the silver needles and smashed them together until they were meat paste.
"YOU... ARE... NOT... THE... LAW!" Daxian roared, his voice an enormous piercing scream. "I... AM... THE... REMAINDER!"
He smashed apart the "Origin-Source-Node" with an enormous punch. The enormous shock sent a wave of turbid air across the sector, turning the silver fire into soot. The needles perished in an instant, their eyeballs popped out and their flesh reduced to dust.
The massacre was complete.
The Return to the Broken
The Sun-Eater—or what was left of it—tumbled through the closing gate and crashed heavily into the ground of New Oakhaven.
The impact was an enormous force, creating a deep pit that swallowed the plaza. The silence settling slowly over the city was no longer clinical. It was the silence of a long-awaited sleep.
Kael and Elio stood at the edge of the pit. Kael was filled with injuries, his bones fractured, his skin opened. He looked at the wreckage and saw three miserable states of men crawling out of the violet-black smoke.
Vane was first, his bones jutting out, his gaze blood red. He was carrying Silas, who was a faint, flickering shadow.
And then came the Weaver.
Daxian stepped into the mud of the plaza. He was reduced to dust in most places. His skull was exploded, his eyeballs popped out, his flesh split. He was the Sovereign of Rot, a miserable state of a god standing in the meat paste of his own kingdom.
"Architect?" Kael whispered, his voice a miserable neighing.
Daxian looked at the city. He didn't see a system. He saw a massacre of a construction site. He saw the blood river of the sewers being repaired. He saw the soot on the children's faces.
He curled up his lips and laughed malevolently, a smile of disdain for the "Absolute Logic" that had failed to kill them.
"The... pipes," Daxian wheezed, coughing out a breath of turbid air.
"They're... holding, Dax," Vane said, sitting down in the mud. "They're holding."
Daxian looked at the copper ring in his human hand. It was charred. It was ugly. It was a mistake. He squeezed it until his bones fractured one last time.
The Final Redundancy is not a Law. It is the 'Soot' that stays when the fire is gone. I have slaughtered the Architects, and I have turned the Origin into a Memory of the Broken. We are no longer 'Perfect-Data.' We are 'Errors' that refuse to be solved. And in the dark of this new day, we will wreak havoc on the silence until the universe learns to scream with us.
Daxian gritted his teeth, his blood red eyes finally closing as he crashed heavily into the arms of the people he had slaughtered a billion universes to save.