Feral on the Ice
Now, it was being consumed by a Conceptual Decay.
Black, oil-like streaks of "Non-Existence" were crawling up the marble, erasing the textures as they went. In the center of the pyramid, suspended in a cage of fading light, was the Architect-Prime.
It didn't look like a god anymore. It looked like a tired old man made of flickering light, his features blurring as the system tried to reclaim his data.
"You... arrived," the Prime whispered, his voice sounding like the crackle of a dying radio. "I calculated... a 0.04% chance that you would care enough to witness the end."
Hot Chapters