As Thauron, the Null Monarch, said this.
Bob observed hundreds of Dead Things.
Hundreds.
Not one hundred.
Ranging from Resplendent Monads all the way to Nascent Source-Bearer Complexities.
And all of them stood or sat on the Rim of the Wheel, of the Vorrell Crucible where the Sorrowglass Fabled Gauntlet was taking place.
They stood or sat as they held obsidian pens in their hands, moving them to write down their records.
But waves of their True Source were used up with every stroke, as Bob could see so Dead Things who looked utterly exhausted, as if they could not handle the expenditure.
"It matters not if one is a Monad or above, or a Nascent Source-Bearer Complexity. Their True Source will be drained relative to their complexity and purity as the life within their Fables is extracted through the Crucible to form True Living Sorrowglass Panaceas. Nothing like the Sorrowglass True Source Panaceas scattered across the Nullvein Gravewake Folds. These ones, my True Living Sorrowglass Panaceas, contain life. Vibrant, wondrous life, as by the ti a Sorrowglass Fabled Gauntlet is done...there will be ten thousand True Living Sorrowglass Panaceas. And out of all participants, the victor of the Gauntlet gets half of them, and I get the other half."
"But there can only be one victor. The last entity remaining who is still able to record their Fable onto the Crucible. And that is a core rule. For any of those who step into the Crucible after the minimum one hundred number is t, they have to write down their Fable as their True Source burns as fuel, and if anybody stops writing their record for even a nanosecond...their entire weavings and True Source will instantly be decimated, as any ounce of life their Fable had will be devoured by Finality as they perish."
Everything would be devoured by Finality.
The words were heavy.
The words were cruel.
But the eyes of Thauron, the Null Monarch, were bright as he continued.
"The last one standing wins. And the winner who gets their hands on five thousand True Living Sorrowglass Panaceas will be able to use them to propel their True Source to an unfathomable level of complexity and purity, with all of those who have taken all five thousand True Living Sorrowglass Panaceas before being able to even exceed High Complexity and High Purity to be more than just Converged Architects or Monads. If you want to be a slightly bigger fish and get what you want, Little Bobby, you could enter the Vorrell Crucible like the others, and...oh?"
The Null Monarch blinked as he pointed to a portion of the Vorrell Crucible with a smile.
"Lookie there..."
Where he pointed.
An utterly haggard-looking Converged Architect could be seen, his form that of an obsidian skeleton with a flaming obsidian crown on his head.
At this mont, the black flas taking the form of a crown above his head were flickering and fading away, as the pen he held in his hand seed unfathomably heavy for him to lift and to keep on writing his Fable.
His entire body seed to be shaking as his True Source burned heavily, a skeletal Deep Sea Death near him at the level of a Nascent Source-Bearer Complexity moving away from this position while continuing to write their own record.
And in the next mont.
The pen in the hands of the Obsidian Skeleton stopped.
"Ah..."
His voice was but a creak as he called out, trying to burn his True Source to activate and continue telling his Fable, but it could not move.
And in the next mont.
The ground beneath him trembled, horrific weavings of Finality reaching out like thousands of black shadowy hands that grabbed onto his body, covering him entirely as he beca frozen before being forcefully pulled into the Crucible down below.
And a massive Spoke right below him pulsed with green-gold light filled with concentration as now, there was one less Converged Architect.
Bob watched such a scene with heaviness, as his eyes were drawn onto the clear glass crystal at the very center of the Crucible showing a few thousand True Living Sorrowglass Panaceas.
"A Crucible would be locked off at this ti when nine thousand True Living Sorrowglass Panaceas have already been ford, but I can bend the rules for you, Little Bobby, to give back for you entangling with another possible puzzle of that. If you can beco a big enough fish, I will move with you to help obtain the Living Thing you let slip past your fingers. So...what will you do?"
Thauron, the Null Monarch, spoke calmly.
And Bob did not even reply, as in the next mont...
His figure shot out like a brilliant star as he went towards the distant Vorrell Crucible, the illusory obsidian Dead Absolute Complex True Source around him buzzing as he made his entry.
Within, Dead Things raised their heads.
|O Null Monarch!|
|This…the rules! The Rules!|
Complaints arose.
Normally, the Crucible would be closed off for entry if it was already this far in, because True Sources would burn more and more the closer it was towards completion, until only a single victor was decided from hundreds or thousands.
But even with the complaints about rules.
"Shush now...I make the rules."
HUUM!
The commanding voice of Thauron, the Null Monarch, echoed out as it quieted all Converged Architects and Monads alongside other Dead Things participating.
Bob made his descent and landed on the massive Crucible, feeling the dread of Finality below him that exceeded anything he knew, as if he did not overco this, he would die.
Truly die.
And that could not happen.
So.
Seconds after he appeared, a black pen filled with the weavings of Finality appeared in front of him, and he grasped it.
His record.
His Fable.
It contained the last parts of him with any life, as at this mont, he took the pen and began to write.
He began to write his records, starting off with nothing else but his daughter.
Because before she ca to be, he was not truly alive.
Only when she was born did his life brighten up, and he truly began to live.
"Oh, Liora..."
The pen began to move.
It began by describing Liora.
A na that ant light.
His light.
His light that shone the way forward, and his light that was taken away when he needed it the most.
He would allow that light to bloom once more, no matter what it took.
His record began to be written as Khaos leaked from him and began to flow into the Rim of the Wheel he stood on.
At the sa ti, his feet began to release hundreds of tentacles that began to spread out.
On the distant Throne of the Folds, Thauron began to smile as he saw this.
Soon enough, the tentacles Bob released reached a Harmonized Sourcebound Icon focused on preserving reserves of his True Source while writing his record, when all of a sudden.
A tentacle shot out from behind and stabbed it in the back, its eyes flashing with horror and rage as it dropped the obsidian pen in its hands.
Its record stopped being written.
And monts later, massive shadowy hands of Finality reached out and grabbed onto the Harmonized Sourcebound Icon Dead Thing, everything they had being pulled in and collapsing as...mayhem began to spread.
And in the midst of all this, Thauron, the Null Monarch, smiled.
There were many ways to win his Crucible.
When battles erupted, that accelerated the process trendously.
"It seems that the harvest will be plentiful soon. Keep it going, O Children of Death."
WAA!
"For every record written, life blooms from death. And one of you shall sip the sweet nectar of Finality...while the rest of you shall feed my Throne."
…!
His voice reverberated to himself.
And weavings of terrifying complexity and purity continued to unfold here.
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