POV DARLENEThe transition from Jackson’s gilded narrative was not a Fade-to-Black, but a Violent Systemic Reversion. As the polished marble and cyan circuitry of the 121st layer shattered into the white-hot static of the Loom, the "Cathedral" didn't just dissolve—it Un-Heeled the Graves. We emerged into the One-Hundred-and-Twenty-Second Layer of Entropy, a realm that felt like the interior of a massive, cooling forge. This was the Chamber of the Revenant Protocol, the terminal point of the Loom’s recycle-bin, where every shadow I had ever "Executed" was being Re-Compiled into a singular, vengeful defense-grid.I stood upon a floor of Scorched Slag and Shattered Gears, a surface that didn't just support my weight but Vibrated with the rhythmic, grinding agony of the Foundry. The air was thick, suffocating, and smelled of Burning Bone, Rust, and the Metallic Tang of my own First Murder—the smell of the moment I realized that my fire was a weapon of absolute deletion. My sunset-gold fir
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