The first sign was not an attack.
It was a missing second.
Time did not break. It did not reverse. It simply… slipped. A fraction of existence vanished so cleanly that even the Abyss hesitated before recognizing the absence.
Mason felt it like a skipped heartbeat.
His shadows tightened instantly, flaring outward, scanning the molten empire for rupture or intrusion. Nothing appeared broken. No tower collapsed. No river of fire faltered.
Yet something was wrong.
"Something's gone," he said quietly.
Seris closed her eyes, silver light dimming into a razor-thin thread as she listened—not to sound, but to continuity itself. "Not destroyed," she murmured. "Not consumed."
She opened her eyes, and for the first time in centuries, there was unmistakable unease in them.
"Removed."
The crucible responded with a low, reverberating pulse. Within it, the Hidden Law stirred—but this time it did not integrate the disturbance. It marked it.
Across the empire's far edge, a region of the Abyss simply… wasn't. Not darkness. Not void.
Nothing.
A clean, seamless absence where existence no longer applied.
Mason stared, jaw clenched. "That wasn't aimed at us."
"No," Seris said. "It was a demonstration."
As if in answer, the Hidden Law resonated—images unfolding within the crucible. Not visions, but recorded truths. Patterns of reality pruning itself. Entire pantheons erased without conflict. Immortal lineages gone without death.
The Mechanism of Erasure did not wage war.
It optimized.
"This thing doesn't care what we are," Mason said slowly. "It only cares whether we belong."
Seris stepped closer, her silver mark glowing steadily. "And we changed the equation when we bound ourselves into the Law."
The absence at the empire's edge expanded—not toward them, but sideways, as though tracing boundaries. Measuring. Mapping.
Mason's shadows flared instinctively, ready to strike, but the crucible stilled them.
A warning.
Force would not work.
"This isn't something I can tear apart," Mason growled. "There's nothing to grab. Nothing to dominate."
Seris looked at him—not afraid, not doubting—but resolute. "Then don't fight it like an enemy."
He turned sharply. "What other option is there?"
She placed her hand over his heart, grounding him. "We don't prove we're stronger. We prove we're necessary."
The words landed with the weight of truth.
The Mechanism was not a tyrant. It was a function. It removed anomalies that destabilized existence.
"So we become stabilizing," Mason said quietly.
"Yes," Seris replied. "Not by limiting ourselves—but by anchoring others."
The crucible pulsed in recognition, silver threads shifting, molten rivers redirecting. The empire began to connect outward—not consuming realms, not dominating them, but reinforcing fractures. Where gods warred endlessly, the Abyss steadied time. Where immortals stagnated, continuity returned.
Across existence, effects rippled.
A demon realm on the brink of collapse stabilized. A dead god's domain ceased decaying. An immortal bloodline felt time move again.
The Mechanism paused.
Mason felt it—an awareness not focused on him alone now, but on the network forming around the molten empire.
"We're changing the criteria," he said.
Seris nodded. "We're no longer excess. We're infrastructure."
The absence halted its expansion.
Then—slowly—it withdrew.
Not defeated.
But unconvinced.
A test deferred.
Mason exhaled, shadows loosening slightly. "It'll be back."
"Yes," Seris said softly. "But next time, it won't be asking whether we belong."
She met his gaze, unwavering.
"It'll be asking whether existence can function without us."
The crucible pulsed—steady, absolute.
In the heart of the Abyss, Mason and Seris stood bound not just to each other, but to the continuation of reality itself.
Obsessive. Consuming. Eternal.
And now—
Indispensable.