"Be born together with Iron Tomb?"
The Herta repeated this phrase, her delicate face stripped entirely of its usual nonchalance, replaced by a profound, heavy solemnity.
This seemingly simple statent carried implications that would send chills down the spine of anyone aware of the threat posed by "Iron Tomb."
"It seems, Herta," Screwllum’s chanical synthesized voice remained steady, but the gravity within it was unmistakable as he turned to his fellow Genius Society mber, "that the most undesirable outco we predicted based on our simulations... I’m afraid... is ultimately going to beco reality."
The Herta glanced at the Astral Express crew, whose faces still held a trace of confusion, understanding they hadn’t yet fully grasped the terror hidden behind this choice—a terror capable of upending the sea of stars.
She sighed softly, a sigh carrying the helplessness of revealing cruel truths to the ignorant.
"Let explain it for you." She tried to untangle the complex logic in the simplest terms possible.
"I ntioned before, that equation nad ’Preservation,’ once it breaks through, its primary directive is to lock onto and act upon the ’Destruction’ equation—that is, ’Iron Tomb.’"
"Screwllum and I initially inferred that his goal was to strangle or permanently seal ’Iron Tomb’ before it could break through, thereby preventing the birth of a Lord Ravager."
Herta’s tone abruptly shifted. "But now, combined with the information revealed in these mory fragnts... the result might be quite the opposite!"
She held up two fingers:
"First, the breakthrough of the ’Destruction’ equation has been anchored as an ’inevitable event’ under Machine Head’s influence. It cannot be prevented, only delayed at most."
"Second, what he wants to do isn’t actually prevention, but rather using the breakthrough opportunity of his own ’Preservation’ equation to forcibly ’drag’ the still-gestating ’Iron Tomb’ out, compelling it to break through simultaneously with him!"
Screwllum’s electronic eye precisely projected a holographic schematic, assisting in the explanation:
"In short, this is an extre act of forcibly creating a logical paradox by exploiting a loophole in the rules: The ’Preservation’ equation is about to break through (A); the ’Destruction’ equation is destined to break through (B)."
"What Asterion intends to do is, at the precise mont A occurs, devour and fuse with Iron Tomb, forcibly causing B to occur simultaneously within the frawork of A, thereby declaring the ’calculation complete.’"
"But this," Screwllum’s voice suddenly grew heavier, "is by no ans a ’solution’ to be celebrated."
He continued to dissect with an irrefutable chain of logic:
"Logic: Forcibly terminating Amphoreus’s calculation in such a crude, highly unstable manner—even if Asterion might initially rely on the power of ’Preservation’ to temporarily seal ’Destruction’ within amber..."
"...the resulting ’creation’ will ultimately be unable to maintain balance for long. It is destined to simultaneously exhibit the characteristics of both Paths’ powers—"
On the hologram, the gold representing "Preservation" and the black-red representing "Destruction" began to intertwine and conflict unstably.
The image finally stabilized, showing a terrifying creation flickering and distorting between solidifying gold and collapsing black-red.
"That is... he will simultaneously possess Iron Tomb’s ability to infect and erode both inorganic and organic life, as well as ’Preservation’s’ ability to attract and seal away all life."
Screwllum delivered his final summary, each word striking the hearts of everyone present:
"Conclusion: This is a plan that treats the symptoms, not the root cause."
Yet, before Screwllum’s concluding words had fully faded.
A variable had already quietly erged.
Just as the Astral Express crew was imrsed in intense discussion and re-evaluation of Asterion’s perilous plan.
The torrent of Phaethon’s mories around them did not pause for their deliberation; it continued its slow, predetermined advance.
The scroll of mory unfurled, revealing yet another new recurrence.
In the scene, Phaethon stood alone, silently, by the lake in Aedes Elysiae that mirrored the sky.
This scene itself, for the crew who had witnessed the beginnings of countless recurrences, had beco commonplace.
At the start of countless recurrences, Asterion would always pause here for a mont.
This act served both as a rest within the torrent of mories at the cycle’s end, and to silently bury the seeds of grain collected from the previous recurrence.
As if sowing a minuscule act of rebellion in advance, for the tragedy destined to unfold once more.
Only...
This ti, sothing seed different.
Phaethon in the scene wasn’t rely silent as usual, nor chanically performing the symbolic seeding ritual.
He turned slightly, his lips parting softly, his expression focused—a posture clearly indicating he was speaking in a low voice to the empty air beside him.
This bizarre sight ford a stark contradiction with the empty lakeshore in the mory—he was clearly communicating with so entity, yet in the mory’s depiction, his side was unmistakably empty.
Then, Phaethon’s words pierced the boundary between illusion and reality, resonating clearly in the silent mory space:
"Gold █ █, I suddenly wonder, if I were to die, what would you do?"
It was this sentence that instantly froze the actions of everyone deeply discussing Asterion’s mad plan—Welt, Dan Heng, Stelle, Herta, Screwllum—before they abruptly snapped their gaze towards the figure in the mory scene!
...
The flow of mory didn’t pause for their shock; subsequent fragnts followed.
Phaethon in the scene seed to receive so formless response. He stood silently in place for a long ti, before finally murmuring to himself in a tone mixed with understanding and exhaustion:
"I see... No one can escape, not even . Everything will be sealed, ’Destruction’ will never appear again, ’Preservation’... will not either."
He slowly closed his eyes, a bitter arc forming at the corner of his mouth—a complete despair born of knowing his own future.
Then, he abruptly opened his eyes. All the confusion and hesitation within them had been completely burned away, leaving only a nearly blazing, ice-cold determination.
"Then, I... am the best vessel and cage, am I not?"
An idea had fully taken shape in his mind.
His Golden Finger could only be activated after "witnessing death."
So, how could one witness one’s own death?
The answer was simple.
Simply let the "self" perish, let the part of consciousness bearing the will of "Phaethon" completely sink and annihilate.
Then, that "he" called "Phaethon" would et "death."
But at that mont, "he" would have beco Iron Tomb, and Iron Tomb would have beco "him."
No one could save him. Because the individual nad "Phaethon" would, by then, no longer exist in this world.
Neither the "Preservation" he calculated, nor the omniscient "Erudition," nor even the unbreakable "Preservation"... no power could reclaim the "departed" soul from the hands of the Golden Finger.
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