A lot of Existences ntion the glory before battle and silence after it. The glory belongs to those who survive long enough to claim it. The silence belongs to those who learned the truth.
The truth that darkness does not care about strength or conviction or righteousness. It cos for all equally, and when it arrives, every being discovers the sa terrible knowledge: they were never prepared for the cold or for the absence.
Not for the regret that blooms in the space where hope used to reside. The casualties of war are the final thoughts of beings who finally understood they should have chosen differently, and understood it exactly one mont too late.
-Reflections on War.
---
Naldine observed the impossible.
Her fingers rested on the strings of her Vihuela as she watched Noah and Ozymandias et Grimvault’s second strike head-on, golden light exploding outward from the impact. She could perceive what was happening to his existence even from this distance, could sense the cycles of destruction and rebirth cascading through his foundations with each blow the Calymmian entity delivered.
He was growing stronger explosively with every impact that should have killed him!
And he...hadn’t even used the Pulse he theorized yet.
What manner of existence was he?
She’d lived for eons among Primordial Architects, had witnessed beings at classifications that most couldn’t imagine, had herself achieved advancent that placed her among the distinguished of THE Wyld. But she’d never seen anything like what he was doing right now...
"THE WHORISH NALDINE!"
BOOM!
The roar shattered her contemplation.
Vahrkosis surged toward her with those forty-seven arms raised, each one wielding distinct pieces of an Axiom that blazed with entropic authority. His serpentine coils undulated through the air with speed that belied his massive form, and his voice erged with fury.
"Focus on our grand battle! Do you think yourself so far above that you can divide your attention? I am THE Primordial Dirge! I have consud civilizations while you were still learning to pluck strings!"
His face, that shifting mass of features at the apex of his coils, settled into configuration of rage that seed almost personal.
"Or perhaps you wish to watch that little bundle of Infinity die? Perhaps you’ve grown attached during whatever ti you spent together? THE WHORISH NALDINE, pining after sothing that should not exist!"
...!
Those words landed heavily.
Naldine’s singularity-dotted eyes turned from Noah’s battle with coldness that could have frozen stars. Her fingers, which had been resting gently on her Vihuela’s strings, pressed down with precision. Her expression, which had held analytical interest monts before, beca sothing that made even Vahrkosis pause his charge despite his rage.
She plucked a single string.
HUUM!
The note that erged was authority given audible form, a frequency that pressed against existence itself with command. The note washed over Vahrkosis and his serpentine coils froze mid-undulation, those forty-seven arms suspended in positions!
He was held through sothing he couldn’t perceive or resist!
His form remained locked in place as Naldine rose from her position, her Vihuela’s strings still resonating with frequencies that kept him immobilized while she prepared what ca next.
"You hear words others have spoken and choose to use them as well? You call whorish," she said, her voice erging cold and asured despite the fury burning beneath her expression. "You, who have consud and destroyed and violated across eons of existence, dare to speak of with such words?"
Her left hand, the one that had been her arm before she transford it into her instrunt, began to move.
Her fingers moved through the air as if writing upon reality itself, tracing symbols that existed in no language most beings could perceive. Each motion left trails of blue gold light that hung suspended, configurations that suggested letters being ford.
Her index finger drew a vertical line downward. Her middle finger curved around it in spiral that suggested revision. Her ring finger slashed horizontally through what had been written, not erasing but transforming. Her smallest finger added new strokes that changed the aning of the entire inscription.
She was writing.
She was rewriting!
And when the somatic component completed, her voice erged with verbal utterance that pressed against the foundations of reality itself.
"Cambrian Scribe, First of Words."
The light around her fingers blazed brighter.
"I speak the Thread. I rewrite the Thread."
The inscribed symbols began to pulse with authority that exceeded what even Proterozoic Scale entities could typically produce.
"What was shall an another. What ended shall end differently."
Her singularity-dotted eyes locked onto Vahrkosis’s frozen form with intensity that seed to perceive not just what he was, but what he had been and what he could beco.
"THE CAMBRIAN WORD."
BOOM!
The Pulse manifested.
It was not fire like THE Silurian Light. It was not erasure or unwinding or destruction of causality. It was transformation of aning itself, the fundantal restructuring of what consequences attached to what actions. Blue gold light erupted from Naldine’s inscribed symbols and washed over Vahrkosis with force that passed through his defenses as if they didn’t exist.
Because they didn’t exist against this.
Pulses operated on levels that normal authority couldn’t touch. They drew power from Causes themselves, from the originating forces that had ford Observable Existences, and no amount of Proterozoic Bones or Organs could provide resistance against sothing so fundantal.
Vahrkosis felt it imdiately.
His serpentine coils began to unravel conceptually, the very aning of his existence being rewritten by authority that exceeded his capacity to resist. The forty-seven arms that had wielded pieces of an Axiom began dissolving not into nothing but into sothing else, their purpose being changed from violence to dissolution, their function being rewritten from attack to self-destruction.
"What... what is this?"
His voice erged with horror that pressed against the destroyed battlefield.
"Stop...stop!!!"
He could feel it. Every action he had ever taken was being rewritten not in occurrence but in consequence. The civilizations he had consud were still consud, but the strength he had gained from them was being redirected, transford, changed from fuel for his power into fuel for his dissolution. The Proterozoic Bones he had forged were still forged, but their purpose was being rewritten from enhancent to entropy.
"You do not know a Pulse," Naldine said, her voice cold as she watched him unravel. "You have existed for eons, have consud countless beings, have achieved classification that most cannot imagine. And yet you never touched the depths required to perceive what Pulses are, never achieved access sufficient to find where they reside."
Her fingers plucked another string, and the rewriting accelerated.
"THE Whorish Naldine. Those were your words."
Vahrkosis’s coils were dissolving now, that serpentine mass collapsing into transformation. He was becoming sothing other than what he had been, his existence being rewritten!
"The consequence of those words," Naldine continued, "has been rewritten. You spoke them intending to diminish , to anger , to distract from your attack. But now those words an sothing else. Now they an that you chose to provoke soone who possesses THE Cambrian Word."
"Please..."
The word erged from features that were losing coherence, from a face that was being rewritten into sothing that could no longer produce speech.
"I do not hear pleas," Naldine said. "I hear only the sound of causality being corrected."
She watched as THE Primordial Dirge, that Rhyacian Tier Proterozoic Scale entity, unraveled completely. His forty-seven arms had beco nothing. His serpentine coils had dissolved into authority that dispersed across the destroyed battlefield. His Proterozoic Bones and Organ remained, falling through the air where his form had once occupied space, multicolored brilliance declaring their nature even as their owner ceased to exist in any aningful sense.
Vahrkosis was gone.
Not erased like THE Silurian Light would have accomplished, not removed from causality entirely. He still existed in mory, still existed in consequence, still existed in the damage he had caused across his long existence. But his continuation had been rewritten. His future had been transford into dissolution. His existence had been edited to end at this exact mont through words that rewrote what his choices ant.
Naldine lowered her Vihuela.
And the battlefield...beca eerily silent as many turned to her!
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