The massive brass chandelier lay twisted on the atrium floor, a tangled wreck of metal and crystal that looked like the ribcage of some fallen clockwork god. The dust it had kicked up still hung in the air, a gray curtain that tasted of copper, old paper, and the static electricity of a dying world.
Kaelen pressed his back against the cold, mahogany wood of a bookshelf in the Ancient History section. He breathed through his open mouth, forcing his lungs to be quiet.
He glanced sideways at the books next to his head. The gold leaf on the spines was fading, but the titles were still legible. The Third Cycle: Rise of the Architects.The Betrayal of Malakor.Theory of the Void: Why the Stars Must Blink Out.
Kaelen swallowed hard. This library wasn't just a storage room. It was the memory of the universe. And Valerius wanted to burn it because he didn't want anyone to remember why the world was ending.
Below him, the wet screams of the crushed cultists had faded into gurgles and then into silence.
"Sector 4. Scrub it," Valerius's voice drifted up from the entrance. It wasn't a shout. It was calm, detached, and terrifyingly clear. "The entropy must be fed. Burn the knowledge. Silence the noise."
Kaelen checked his knife. It was a jagged piece of scrap metal against an army of zealots who worshipped the end of time. He wiped his sweaty palm on his trousers and gripped the handle tighter.
He heard boots on the stairs. Thud. Thud. Thud.
[ ECHO SENSE: ACTIVE ]
The world turned into a wireframe of sound in his mind. He could feel the vibrations in his teeth.
[ TARGETS DETECTED: 3 ][ PROXIMITY: 15 Meters ]
Three of them. A "Hunter Squad." They moved with the synchronized rhythm of soldiers who had done this a hundred times before.
Kaelen scanned his surroundings desperately. He was trapped in a narrow aisle. Bookshelves towered ten feet high on either side. At the end of the aisle was a dead end—a reading nook with a large, rusted window overlooking the ruined garden.
If he stayed here, he was dead. Simple as that.
He grabbed a heavy hardcover book—The Fall of the Second Era. He weighed it in his hand, feeling the texture of the old leather.
The boots got closer. He could hear the soft, mechanical hiss-click of their breathing masks.
Step. Step. Pause.
Kaelen threw the book. He lobbed it high over the top of the bookshelf, putting a spin on it so it would crash into the next aisle over.
THUD.
The heavy book hit the floor with a flat, unmistakably human sound.
"Left," a muffled voice commanded. "Disturbance."
Two shadows broke away, heading for the noise. One shadow stayed put.
Smart, Kaelen thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. They know the tactics of the Old War.
The lone cultist appeared at the head of the aisle.
He was a brute. His heavy trench coat was stitched with patches of leather that looked suspiciously like human skin. His mask was pristine white porcelain, with the single black line of the Silenced painted across the mouth.
[ ⊖ ]
The symbol wasn't just a logo. It was a mathematical operator. Null Set. Zero. The cult's entire philosophy was painted on their faces.
The cultist saw him. He didn't shout. He didn't alert his team. He simply raised a serrated machete, his eyes widening with sadistic glee behind the mask.
He charged.
Kaelen didn't run. He focused his eyes on the floor near the cultist's feet.
[ AUTHORITY ACTIVATED ][ TARGET: REALITY FABRIC (FLOOR) ][ COMMAND: DENIAL OF FRICTION ]
Kaelen felt a sharp pain spike in his frontal lobe, like an icepick driving into his brain. He wasn't casting a spell; he was forcing his will onto the universe's operating system. He was telling reality that friction did not exist in that one square meter.
The universe resisted. It wanted to follow the laws of physics. But Kaelen was an observer. He outranked the floor.
[ REALITY OVERWRITTEN ]
The cultist lunged, putting all his weight into the kill. His boot hit the targeted patch.
He slipped.
It wasn't a clumsy stumble; it was violent physics. His legs flew out from under him, carrying his massive momentum forward.
CRASH.
The cultist slammed face-first into the sharp corner of the oak bookshelf. The porcelain mask shattered into a hundred pieces.
Kaelen moved.
He sprinted the gap in two heartbeats and drove his knee into the man's face, smashing his head back into the wood with a sickening crunch.
The cultist roared and lashed out blindly. His hand clamped around Kaelen's throat. The grip was superhuman—enhanced by the Void corruption running through his veins.
Kaelen gasped, black spots dancing in his vision. He grabbed the man's wrists, digging his nails in.
[ DENIAL: STRENGTH ]
Your muscles are weak. You are a biological machine running on low power.
[ WARNING: AUTHORITY DRAINING ][ NEURAL LOAD: 12% ]
The headache blinded him for a second, but the iron grip faltered. The man's muscles spasmed, confused by the sudden rejection of their own strength.
Kaelen let go of one hand, grabbed the fallen machete, and swung.
[ CRITICAL HIT ]
The heavy blade bit deep. The cultist went rigid, gurgled a wet sound, and slumped sideways.
[ ENEMY ELIMINATED: Silenced Disciple (Lvl 4) ][ EXP GAINED ]
Kaelen scrambled back, pushing the heavy corpse off his legs. He sat there for a second, gasping for air.
He checked the body quickly. He stripped the man's belt and found a strange, jagged dagger made of black glass that seemed to absorb the light around it. It felt cold to the touch—colder than ice. It buzzed against his palm.
[ ITEM FOUND: Void-Glass Dagger ][LORE: Crystallized 'Nothingness.' Mined from the edge of the collapsing reality.][EFFECT: Stops regeneration. Deletes organic matter on contact.]
"Disgusting," Kaelen muttered, a shiver running up his spine as he tucked it into his boot.
"Unit 4? Report!" The shout came from the next aisle.
Kaelen looked at the window. Sealed shut.
He grabbed the dead cultist by the collar and dragged him to the window, leaving a smear of red on the floor. With a grunt of effort, he heaved the corpse up and threw it through the glass.
SMASH.
The body tumbled into the garden below.
The two other cultists rounded the corner, rifles raised. They saw the broken window. They saw the blood.
"He jumped," one said, lowering his weapon. "Fool. The fall will liquefy him."
"Check it," the other commanded. "Malakor demands the source code. If the Observer has it, we need his head."
Source Code? Kaelen narrowed his eyes from his hiding spot. He was wedged into the gap between the top of the bookshelf and the ceiling, his muscles burning as he held himself up. Is that what they think I am? A glitch?
The second cultist climbed onto the sill to jump down.
Kaelen dropped.
He landed on the first cultist's shoulders, driving him to the ground. Kaelen didn't hesitate. He jammed the Void-Glass dagger into the man's exposed thigh.
The cultist didn't just bleed. He dissolved.
The leg turned into gray dust where the blade touched. The man screamed—a sound of pure cosmic horror as part of his existence was simply deleted.
The second cultist spun around on the windowsill. Kaelen kicked him in the chest.
"Go check on him," Kaelen snarled.
The man fell backward, out the window, tumbling into the darkness.
Kaelen turned back to the one dissolving on the floor. The rot was spreading fast, eating the man alive.
He stepped on the man's wrist.
"Who is Malakor?" Kaelen whispered, leaning down.
The cultist looked up, his eyes wide with fanaticism and pain.
"Malakor... is the architect who saw the truth," the man rasped, blood bubbling through his shattered mask. "This world is a failed draft. It must be scrapped. The Silence... is the eraser."
Kaelen felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold library air.
A failed draft.
"Then I'm the editor," Kaelen said.
He finished it.
[ COMBAT RESOLVED ][ LEVEL UP! ][ OBSERVER LEVEL 3 ][ NEW SKILL: Echo Step ]
Kaelen grabbed the pistol from the dead man. Three bullets.
He stood in the silence of the library, surrounded by the history of a billion dead lives.
The Void wasn't an accident. It was a demolition. And Valerius was just the foreman.
Kaelen slipped into the shadows, focusing on his new skill to silence his boots.
He had to find Elara. If Malakor was an "architect," then Elara was the only one who knew the blueprints.