Chapter 31: The Threshold of the Void
The ascent was not merely a physical journey; it was a violent stripping of reality. As Cyan and his four remaining Goddesses climbed the shimmering, dark-gold bridge that Lyra had become, the atmosphere of their world—the violet clouds, the scent of ozone, the very gravity—began to thin and dissolve. Below them, the planet Arcanos shrank into a marble of swirling shadows, a fragile jewel floating in an endless, suffocating blackness.
Cyan didn't look back. His eyes were fixed on the destination: a massive, clockwork structure that hung in the void like a celestial tumor. It was the Gate of the First Architect, a station where the laws of the universe were tuned like strings on a lute.
"The air... it tastes like static," Lilith whispered, her usual predatory confidence replaced by a primal unease. She stayed close to Cyan, her hand clutching the hilt of her blade until her knuckles turned white.
"That's because it's not air, Lilith," Cyan replied, his voice sounding thin in the vacuum. "It's 'Raw Data'. We are walking through the thoughts of the ones who built us. Stay focused. If your mind wanders here, the void will fill the gaps with your own nightmares."
[System Notification: Entering 'Non-Euclidean Space'.]
[Status: Reality Stability at 40%.]
[Warning: The Host is now a 'Foreign Element' in the High-Dimensional Network.]
As they reached the end of the bridge, the gold light of Lyra's essence flared one last time before hardening into a massive, translucent gate. Cyan placed his hand on the surface. It was warm—unnervingly warm, like a beating heart.
"Forgive me, Lyra," he murmured, so softly that even the Goddesses couldn't hear. "I will make this sacrifice mean something."
With a surge of his violet mana, the gate groaned and swung open.
They stepped into a world that defied all human logic. There was no floor, only a lattice of golden gears and glowing circuits that stretched in every direction. Great orbs of light, each containing a miniature, developing world, floated in the distance. The sound was a deafening, rhythmic ticking—the heartbeat of time itself.
"INTRUDERS DETECTED," a voice boomed, but it didn't come from a throat. It was a vibration that shook their very atoms. "ANOMALY 0-9 HAS BREACHED THE SECURE LAYER. INITIATING 'NEUTRALIZATION' SUB-ROUTINE."
From the golden gears, hundreds of "Sentinels" emerged. They weren't like the geometric Administrator they had fought before; these were fluid, metallic shapes that shifted between forms—sometimes appearing as lions of light, other times as swarms of crystalline shards.
"Azrael! Clara! Protect the flanks!" Cyan roared, his silver hair erupting in a halo of dark energy. "Isabella, find the central node of this floor! I want to know how they are powering these constructs!"
The battle that erupted was unlike anything they had ever faced. There was no blood, only bursts of white code and violet sparks. Azrael flew through the gears, his six dark wings clashing with the Sentinels of Light, his obsidian blade carving through their celestial armor.
Cyan moved like a blur, a literal 'Virus' in the machine. Every time he struck a Sentinel, he didn't just destroy it; he corrupted it. The golden light would turn a sickly purple, and the construct would turn on its own kind before shattering into dust.
But for every Sentinel they destroyed, ten more appeared. The system of the architects was self-healing, an infinite loop of defense.
"There's too many!" Clara shouted, her spear glowing with a desperate intensity as she fended off a swarm of crystals. "We can't win a war of attrition against the universe itself!"
Cyan felt the pressure. His mana was vast, but here, in the home of his creators, he was leaking energy. Every breath he took was a struggle against the deletion protocols that were trying to erase his existence.
He looked up. High above the gears, he saw a central column of white fire—the Core of the Gate.
"I have to reach the center," Cyan realized.
He looked at his Goddesses. They were exhausted, their auras flickering. They had given everything to get him here.
"Isabella," Cyan called out, his voice suddenly calm amidst the chaos. "Take the others. Form a defensive perimeter around the entrance. I'm going for the Core."
"Alone?" Isabella's eyes widened. "Master, if you fall there, there is no coming back. We won't even be able to find your soul."
Cyan looked at his hands—the blue-stained palms of a god, the trembling fingers of a boy. "I've been alone since the day I was cast into the Abyss, Isabella. This is just the final descent."
He didn't wait for her protest. He unleashed the [Absolute Paradox] skill, creating a localized explosion of void that propelled him upward like a dark comet.
The Sentinels tried to intercept him, but he was too fast. He ignored their strikes, letting the light sear his flesh, his focus entirely on the white fire ahead.
As he neared the Core, the ticking sound grew so loud it felt like his skull was splitting. And then, the fire spoke.
"Why do you persist, little spark?" The voice was no longer mechanical. It was ancient, weary, and strangely familiar. "You have broken your world. You have killed your loved ones. For what? To see the face of your creator? To ask 'Why'?"
Cyan crashed onto the platform at the base of the fire. He was covered in burns, his mantle torn to shreds. He looked into the white flame and saw a silhouette—a figure that looked exactly like him, but made of pure, unblemished light.
"I didn't come for answers," Cyan gasped, pulling himself up, his purple eye bleeding a trail of dark mana. "I came to give you back the 'Sin' you tried to prune from your perfect garden."
He lunged into the fire, his hand outstretched to grasp the heart of the machine.