The battlefield had gone still. The Architect's core had been breached, and though MC emerged victorious in form, the emotional toll was evident on every soul tethered to his growing dominion. His throne pulsed with corrupted light, but his eyes—those void-like windows into the abyss—betrayed something fragile: doubt.
Nyx stood beside him, her form sleek in midnight obsidian armor, her eyes no longer defiant but conflicted. Celestia lingered just behind, her wings torn, her once-radiant aura dimmed. They had all survived. They had all won. And yet...
"I feel nothing," MC whispered.
It was the first time he'd spoken in hours. The digital storm still flickered across the sky, a remnant of the Architect's dying scream. But within the domain, silence reigned.
"You should feel triumph," Nyx replied softly. "You've conquered gods."
