The city moved beneath them—bright, alive, and breathing, unaware of the growing silence that coiled through its veins like smoke. Somewhere in the distance, laughter echoed from a market square, carried on the scent of spice and fresh bread. Children raced beneath the shadow of the Nexus Spire, their joy unburdened. They had no idea.
High above it all, Knox and Seraph stood at the edge of the western overlook, scanning the skyline. The sun had begun its descent, bathing the city in molten orange and fireglass hues. From this height, everything looked whole. Restored. But their eyes weren't on the rooftops or roads.
They were watching for ghosts.
A low wind stirred Seraph's hair. Below, Nexus City pulsed in radiant order—autonomous drones gliding through skylanes, crowds bustling through market bridges and solar tram stations. It all looked normal. Perfect, even. But Knox felt it in the marrow of his bones: something in the rhythm was wrong.
Max had sent a quiet ping through the uplink hours ago. No alarms. No lockdowns. Just concern. People collapsing wasn't unheard of in reconstruction zones—heat stress, old cybernetics shorting, even spiritual interference from leyline remnants. But this was different.
Now there were dozens.
Then a hundred.
All of them fine.
Max's scans hadn't found a single physiological anomaly. Blood oxygen, temperature, electrical conductivity—normal. Vital signs stable. They simply… stopped. Not asleep. Not dead. Just gone, eyes open, unmoving. Souls unplugged from the body, like puppets:
["They're still breathing, but no one's home,"] Kaelina muttered. ["It's not coma. It's not stasis. It's like something called them away."]
["Or tore something out,"] Luminara whispered. ["Their souls were partially severed."]
The plaza below them sparked with sudden movement—med teams arrived via drone skiffs, cloaked in soft light. Each body was lifted into containment, scanned again, tagged for anomalies. No change. Their minds weren't trapped in simulation or dream. They simply… weren't there.
Knox watched one of the victims being carried away—a girl no older than twelve. A music chip still buzzed from her shoulder port, playing the last loop she'd heard before collapsing. Her fingers twitched rhythmically, as if still dancing to something only she could hear.
Seraph looked away.
"I know what this is," Knox said quietly. "It's him. Zareth. Animavorax."
"Confirmed," Max said. "Three collapse zones form perfect radial symmetry around the last known manifestation site. They're targeting emotional density—joy, grief, love, fear. Every cluster was near either a school, a shrine, or a celebration."
"Feeding grounds," Seraph said coldly.
["Not just feeding,"] Luminara added. ["Sampling. Like a composer selecting the perfect notes for a symphony."]
Kaelina growled. ["Except his instrument is souls."]
Knox turned sharply. "Is this what he meant when he called himself a record?"
["Not quite,"] Luminara said. ["He's part of the System Record. A living entry in the Archives of the Creator—a registry of every system across the multiverse. Some Records walk, observe, even intervene. But Zareth… Zareth's become corrupted. Animavorax is rewriting his script."]
Seraph's expression hardened. "So he's not just a wielder of a divine system. He is the system."
["More than that,"] Luminara whispered. ["He's the vessel. Animavorax isn't fully here yet. Zareth is preparing the way—through each harvested soul, he's building resonance."]
Kaelina's tone turned cold and clear. ["He's not just harvesting. He's anchoring."]
Max suddenly overlaid a projection before them—Nexus City, layered with data streams. Red points flashed where collapses had been recorded. Then the map zoomed out. The red points weren't random—they spiraled inward. Not a perfect circle. A pattern. Something ancient.
A sigil.
Knox frowned. "What is that?"
"It's a divine schematic," Max replied. "Layered beneath the city through spiritual tension points. The more he takes, the more defined it becomes. Once complete, Animavorax will have a direct anchor into our world—no veil, no barrier. Full presence."
["That's why he needs you,"] Luminara said, her voice softer now. ["You and Seraph—true system hosts, chosen directly by the Interface. Your bond to creation is unique. If he captures either of you, Animavorax won't need a gate. He'll enter through you."]
Kaelina hissed, her fury tightly leashed. ["He's playing a symphony of stolen souls, and you're the crescendo."]
Knox said nothing for a moment. He stared at the sigil forming beneath their city—beneath their home. The lines weren't just theoretical; they had weight. Meaning. Ancient purpose. Like something that had been waiting beneath the earth long before humans learned to write.
"How do we sever the strings?"
Max hesitated. "Not without risk. If we try to disrupt the ritual mid-form, it could backlash. Inverting the anchor would flood the local dimension with residual entropy. If he dies while Animavorax is partially embedded—he may still emerge."
"We'll find a way," Seraph said. "We have to."
Knox turned to her.
The fading sunlight caught in her eyes—not afraid, not even angry. Just resolute. Whatever came next, they weren't backing down. Not for a second.
"I've already begun mapping an interference model," Max said. "If we can find the exact center of the resonance network, we might be able to collapse it before it finalizes."
Kaelina's voice sharpened. ["And when we find Zareth again—we finish it. No more warnings. No more diplomacy."]
Knox's jaw tightened.
"No more strings."
And across the city, beneath the growing veil of twilight, the spirals deepened.