Page 167 of Godslayer
I walk over to my own lab, find the Corrupted God hovering in front of a panel of screens, cacklin’ softly to himself.
He hears me, turns, smiles. Gestures to the threadin’ table. “Welcome home, Tyse. Let’s get started. I have big, big plans for you tonight.”
Moments later I’m strapped in. Threaded.Dyin’.
And then the sweet, sweet spark enters me for thetenthtime.
I wakein the cage maze.
I am the dark soldier, standing in the blood of the fallen.
Once again, at the bottom of the arena. Immediately, I’m on my feet. Unreal eyes scannin’ the place. Thousands of lines of code are fallin’ down my field of vision like rain. Every number, every letter, every symbol is decoded before I even see it.
The spool of Source, the thread of Spark—I am the machine made flesh.
This is what it means to be workin’.
My eyes are glowin’ so bright, it lights the place up red.
Red.
Red.
Not blue.
Red.
I walk the hush that follows ruin.
I utter no prayer—for I am the override.
A weapon of the sandy sea.
What am I? What has he done to me?
In the image, I am made and in the image, I will unmake.
For thine is the kingdom made in sand.
No time to care. I move.
And thy rule was made in wind.
And in the wind, as in the days of dark imprisonment, the new gods rose as tall as the hollow towers.
The cage wires rattle under my grip. Steel twists, groans, gives. I don’t climb—Irise.
And in this rising, they conquered.
Swept the land of everything and left it clean like a bone.
One hand. One boot. One pull. The metal’s a blur beneath me.
And on that bone, was born I.
The executioner and the death.
Below, the mutants scream. But they don’t matter. Not yet. They won’t touch me.
