Existence narrowed.
The battlefield bent.
The war of Primarchs and impossibility thundered around me like a dying storm, but I no longer listened. My gaze was fixed, cold and unwavering, upon the obsidian-gold mass that had killed me twice and sought to make it permanent.
The Living Collapse.
My form blurred, layers of Lattices knitting tighter. I released all restraint, letting the Wheel of Existence within me spin.
Letting the Autognosis Living Engine within me hum to life.
It was not a roar.
It was not a scream.
It was a quiet, resonant thrum.
The kind of vibration that rewrote laws without asking permission.
Within my Existence, True Sources began to move.
Infinity.
The Singed.
Paradox Genesis bloomed.
Not as a technique. Not as a spell.
As a Quintessential inevitability.
The union was seamless, as though the contradiction had never existed.
And in the crucible of fusion, in the engine meant to kill wonders and rewrite monsters, it happened once more.
