The law is ash, the king is clay,
To find the light of a different day.
A hand of meat, a soul of lead,
To walk the path of the newly dead.
The weaver wakes in the mud and grime,
To pay the debt of a stolen time.
For in the silence of the black,
There is no road to lead us back.
The white light of the "Final Solution" didn't leave a clean slate. It left a meat-grinder that had forgotten how to turn.
When the Sun-Eater finally crashed heavily into the ground of the Seventh Architecture's remains, it wasn't a ship anymore. It was a miserable state of twisted iron-wood and shattered bones, its hull peeled ruthlessly by the drag of the super-void. The violet sky of the Abyss was gone, replaced by a turbid air that smelled of cooling silver and old blood.
Daxian lay in the center of the wreckage, his body filled with injuries.
His right arm—the necrotic limb he had woven from the meat paste of his enemies—was a charred ruin, the bones jutting out of the body like jagged, black teeth. His skull was partially exploded, a pulse of violet light flickering weakly in the gap. He was unhindered by the "Logic" now, but he was intensely struggling just to draw a single, rattling breath.
"Dax..."
The voice was a miserable neighing rasp. Vane was crawling through the debris, his skin opened and flesh split across his back. His left eyeball had popped out again, hanging by a red thread, but he didn't seem to notice. He reached out with a trembling, grease-stained hand and grabbed Daxian's collar.
"Don't... you... perish... on me," Vane wheezed, coughing out blood that stained the silver dust.
"The... math... stopped," Daxian whispered, his gaze expressionless and scattered.
He looked at his hand—the human one. It was covered in meat paste and logic-dust. He didn't feel like a god. He felt like a corpse that had been smashed apart and sewn back together by a lunatic.
Outside the wreck, the slaughter between the two sides reached the climax.
The Un-Woven—the survivors of the Seventh Architecture—were no longer hiding in the gaps. They were charging forward into the ruins of New Oakhaven, their gaze blood red with a madness that made the cold void feel warm. They weren't fighting for the Peers anymore. They were slaughtering each other for the "Names" that were leaking out of the World-Tree's broken roots.
"MINE!" a woman shrieked, her skin peeled ruthlessly from her face as she dove into a blood river of liquid data.
She grabbed a glowing "Template" and tried to shove it into her own opened flesh. The enormous shock of the "Sync" caused her skull to explode, her eyeballs popping out as her body was reduced to dust by the raw power.
Kael stood at the edge of the plaza, his bones fractured in his left leg. He was holding a heavy iron pylon, his smile of disdain fixed on the chaotic battle situation. He wasn't a valve-tender anymore. He was a slaughterer.
"STAY BACK!" Kael roared, smashing down ruthlessly on an Un-Woven youth who tried to reach Elio.
The youth's skull exploded under the iron pylon, turning into meat paste instantly. Kael didn't flinch. He gritted his teeth, his unrivaled spirit hardened by the massacre. He looked at the Sun-Eater, waiting for a signal that wasn't coming.
The Fighting Scene: The Riot of the Remnants
The massacre in the plaza intensified as a second wave of Un-Woven pierced into the chaotic battle.
They moved with lightning speed, their bones jutting out to act as blades. They didn't have the silver-light of the Peers, but they had the Rage of the Error. They were lunatics taking risks, charging forward into the blood river without a second thought.
Vane emerged from the ship's ramp, a miserable state of a warrior.
He didn't have his hammer—it had been smashed apart in the super-void. He used a jagged piece of the ship's hull, a three-hundred-pound shard of iron-wood. He slammed mercilessly into the first line of attackers, his bones fracturing with every hit.
"YOU WANT A CALAMITY?" Vane roared, laughing malevolently.
He smashed down ruthlessly on a lunatic's chest, the enormous force turning the man's ribs into shattered bones that pierced into skin and flesh. Vane was unhindered by the spears that bombarded his brass-plated skin. He racked his brains to find the most brutal angles, peeling the skin ruthlessly off those who got too close.
"IS THIS THE CLIMAX?" Vane screamed, his gaze blood red.
He grabbed two attackers by their throats and smashed them together with enormous force. Their skulls exploded in a synchronized pop, flesh and blood reduced to dust raining down on Vane's soot-stained face. He laughed madly, a smile of disdain for the death that surrounded him.
Up on the prow, Silas was intensely struggling.
The Grand Chronicler was no longer indigo; he was a bruised, blood red shadow. He was trying to "Archive" the slaughter, but the miserable neighing sounds of the dying were overwhelming his "Noise-Core."
"The... corpses... they're... everywhere!" Silas wailed, his flesh split along his conceptual seams.
He saw a group of Un-Woven trying to "Dismantle" the World-Tree's central root. Silas charged forward mentally, wreaking havoc on their nervous systems. He didn't delete them; he bombarded them with the "Grief" of the children they had just killed.
The lunatics crashed heavily into the ground, their eyeballs popping out as their minds were smashed apart by the profundity of their own crimes. They intensely struggled for a second before turning into meat paste under the weight of the "Noise."
Daxian finally dragged himself to the ramp.
He looked at the fierce slaughter going on below him. He saw the blood river flowing into the deep pit. He saw Kael smashing apart the lives of others to save one boy. He saw Vane reduced to dust in places but still charging forward.
Daxian gritted his teeth, a laugh malevolent escaping his torn throat.
"Is... this... what... I... built?" Daxian wheezed, coughing out blood.
He didn't use the Terminal-Command. He used his Spite.
He slammed mercilessly into the plaza, his bones jutting out as he landed. He didn't stand up; he crawled through the meat paste, his one human hand dragging his miserable state toward the center of the massacre.
"STOP!" Daxian roared, the sound an enormous piercing that caused the chaotic battle situation to freeze for a heartbeat.
The Un-Woven turned. They saw the Sovereign of Rot, his skull exploded, his bones fractured, his skin opened. He looked like the Profundity of the Corpse.
"The Peers... are... gone," Daxian hissed, coughing out a breath of turbid air. "There... is... no... more... math. There... is... only... the... Soot."
The Remnant—the white-eyed leader who had survived the super-void—stepped forward. Her skin was peeled ruthlessly, her gaze blood red. She looked at Daxian with a smile of disdain.
"The soot is for the weak, Weaver!" she shrieked, charging forward at lightning speed. "We want the Source! We want the Final Law!"
She slammed mercilessly into Daxian, her hand piercing into skin and flesh of his chest. Daxian crashed heavily into the mud, his bones fracturing with an enormous shock.
He laughed malevolently, his eyeballs popped out from the pressure, but he didn't let go. He grabbed her throat with his human hand.
"There... is... no... law," Daxian whispered, his smile malevolent.
He racked his brains one last time. He didn't channel power. He channeled Nothing.
He forced the "Silence of the Hive" into her "Ambition." He smashed apart her desire to be a god.
The Remnant's skull exploded. Her eyeballs popped out as she perished in a burst of grey "Null-Data." She was reduced to dust, her flesh and blood turning into a miserable state of grey sand that covered Daxian's face.
The slaughter stopped.
The survivors looked at the deep pit, at the Sovereign of Rot who was filled with injuries and shattered bones. They saw a man who had smashed apart the universe and now sat in the meat paste of his own creation.
"Go... home," Daxian whispered, coughing out blood.
"We don't have a home, Architect!" someone shouted from the back.
Daxian looked at the blood river. He looked at the corpses.
"Then... build... one," Daxian said. "Out... of... the... mistakes."
Daxian crashed heavily into the mud, his blood red eyes finally closing as the silence settling slowly over the massacre.
The Peers are dead. The Law is gone. I have turned the Abyss into a Republic of the Broken. It is ugly. It is painful. It is filled with meat paste and shattered bones. But it is ours. And in the dark of the 'Source,' I can finally hear the sound of the loom again.
Vane walked over and picked up the miserable state of his friend. He looked at the deep pit and the blood river.
"He's still breathing, Silas," Vane grunted, his own bones jutting out.
"Then... the Scratch... continues," Silas whispered, his gaze so blood red it hurt to look at.
The War of the Error had ended. The Era of the Broken had begun.