The sky is a bruise that refuses to heal,
To show us the hunger that's jagged and real.
A rib made of iron, a lung made of mud,
To drink from the chalice of anciently blood.
The weaver is rising, the weaver is cold,
To stitch the last story that ever was told.
For in the finality of the last breath,
The only true architect is absolute death.
The transition from the Unwritten Page into the Un-Woven Dawn was not a passage of time; it was a massacre of biological continuity.
As the first light of the new era broke over New Oakhaven, it didn't bring warmth. It brought the scent of ozone, wet cedar, and the cloying, sweet stench of meat paste that had begun to ferment in the deep pits of the plaza. The air was a miserable state of bruised violet and curdled grey—a turbid air so thick with the microscopic dust of shattered bones that every breath Daxian took felt like an enormous piercing of his lungs.
Daxian sat upon the Throne of the Remainder, which was no longer a chair but a jagged, growing mound of obsidian iron-wood and fused silver-glass.
His right side was a massacre of evolution. The roots of the World-Tree had woven so deeply into his fractured ribs that they now pulsed with the same rhythm as his heart. His bones were jutting out of the body at the shoulder, forming a jagged, ivory wing of raw marrow and rusted wire. His skull was partially exploded, and the violet crystal in the gap hummed with a malevolent laughter, sending spikes of "Pure-Noise" through the surrounding mud.
His eyeballs had popped out, resting deep in their sockets as twin pits of blood red fire. He wasn't looking at the horizon; he was looking at the flesh and blood of his kingdom as it began to "Re-Render" itself without a script.
"Dax... the... soot... is... turning... into... glass..."
Vane's voice was a wet, rattling sound that seemed to leak from the floorboards of the Sun-Eater's remains. The Lord of the Forge was a miserable state of a man. His brass skin was peeled ruthlessly by the "Logic-Plague" of the previous volume, revealing the pulsing flesh and blood beneath. His bones were fractured in many places, and he was intensely struggling to hold a jagged iron pylon that acted as his new crutch.
"The... sky... it... doesn't... have... a... Law... anymore," Vane wheezed, coughing out blood that was clotted with silver data-shards.
"A... sky... without... a... Law... is... a... slaughterhouse, Vane," Daxian whispered, his voice an enormous shockwave that caused the nearby ruins to crack and bleed.
The Fighting Scene: The Breach of the Red-Marrow Drones
The slaughter reached the climax before the sun could fully rise.
From the edges of the super-void, the Red-Marrow Drones arrived. These were the "Mutated-Sentinels" of the Ninth Architecture—beings that had been "Inked" by Daxian's blood and were now returning with a hunger for physical existence. They weren't machines; they were meat paste held together by rusted iron-lattices, their movements a blur of lightning speed and enormous force.
A swarm of Drones pierced into the chaotic battle of the lower districts. They didn't strike to kill; they struck to "Harvest." They used jagged bone-hooks to tear the flesh and blood off the survivors, trying to build their own "History" out of the corpses of the Republic.
"STAY... BROKEN!" Kael roared, charging forward from the medical tents.
Kael was a miserable state of a warrior. His skin was opened and flesh split across his chest, and his bones were fractured in his left leg, yet his unrivaled spirit burned. He smashed down ruthlessly with an iron beam, the enormous shock turning the first Drone into a slurry of meat paste and logic-dust.
"MOM! THE... CORPSES... ARE... EATING... EACH... OTHER!" Elio screamed, his voice an enormous piercing of the chaos.
Vane rose from the mud, his eyeballs popped out from the internal pressure of his rage. He didn't have his hammer, so he used his own shattered bones as a lever. He slammed mercilessly into the swarm, his translucent brass fists wreaking havoc on the Drones' internal frames.
"IS THIS THE CLIMAX?" Vane screamed, laughing malevolently.
He was unhindered by the silver beams that bombarded his chest. He racked his brains to find the most "Ugly" way to kill. He grabbed a Drone by its ribs and peeled the skin ruthlessly off its conceptual frame, revealing the blood river of stolen marrow beneath.
"YOU... WANT... TO... BE... REAL?" Vane shrieked, his gaze blood red.
He smashed them together with enormous force, their skulls exploded, their eyeballs popped out, and they were reduced to dust before they hit the ground. He was intensely struggling, his bones jutting out of his body, but he laughed madly through the massacre.
Daxian finally rose from his throne.
He didn't walk; he wreaked havoc on the space between himself and the enemy. He slammed mercilessly into the center of the Drone-swarm, his meat-arm stretching out like a necrotic whip to smash apart their "Flesh-Lattices."
Every time he hit, the enormous shock sent a spray of meat paste across the plaza. He was unhindered by the pain of his own opened flesh. He was a lunatic taking risks, his skull exploded, his gaze so blood red it ignited the turbid air.
"YOU... WANT... A... BODY?" Daxian roared, his voice an enormous piercing of the super-void. "I'LL... GIVE... YOU... THE... ROT... THAT... COMES... WITH... IT!"
He grabbed a Drone's "Heart-Spindle" and smashed it apart until the flesh and blood were reduced to dust. The Drone perished in a burst of miserable neighing sounds, its "History" turning back into logic-dust under the weight of Daxian's Ink.
The massacre between the two sides reached the climax.
The blood river in the plaza overflowed, carrying the corpses of the Drones toward the roots of the World-Tree. Daxian was intensely struggling, his bones fractured in many places, his skin opened, his flesh split, but he laughed malevolently.
The Profundity of the New Forge
The slaughter ended when the last Drone was reduced to dust.
Daxian stood in the center of the deep pit, his body filled with injuries. He looked at Vane. The Lord of the Forge was lying in a pool of black ichor and red blood, his skin opened, his bones jutting out. He looked like a miserable state of a man, but he was gritting his teeth and smiling.
"We... we wreaked havoc on... the... hunger... boss," Vane wheezed, coughing out blood.
"The... hunger... is... the... only... thing... that... keeps... us... Alive," Daxian whispered, his blood red eyes closing as he felt the World-Tree begin to grow once more.
The Tree was absorbing the meat paste of the Drones, its branches turning into jagged shards of "Original-Sin." It wasn't a forest; it was a massacre of biological engineering. The soot was no longer falling from the sky; it was rising from the ground, a turbid air of beautiful, jagged, painful survival.
Daxian sat back on the Throne of the Remainder, his bones jutting out with every breath. He looked at the residents of New Oakhaven. They were covered in grease. They were covered in mud. They were covered in the flesh and blood of their own survival.
Ambition is not about a 'Happy Ending.' It is about the 'Right to Suffer' on your own terms. I have slaughtered the Logic, and I have smashed apart the Author. I am the Sovereign of the Scrap. And my kingdom is a blood river of beautiful, jagged, painful mistakes. We will wreak havoc on the dawn until the universe learns that 'Broken' is the only way to be 'Whole.'
Daxian gritted his teeth, his smile of disdain fixed on the flickering stars.
"Fix... the... pipes," he whispered, before crashing heavily into the Sovereignty of the Soot.