The silence under the Nullification dome was absolute, pressing the horror of Greed's revelation into every fiber of my being. I was a puppet, a time-bomb, destined to die and become a vessel for a cosmic traitor.
I forced myself to breathe. The terror was so potent it functioned as an unnatural stimulant. My exhaustion was gone, replaced by a cold, searing desperation. My very identity felt like sand slipping through my fingers, and the impulse to fight back against the puppet strings was all that kept my mind from fracturing.
'Why haven't I been erased already?' I projected, the question raw and demanding. 'I absorbed the Icarus fragment. That was a major power step, enough to shatter my consciousness. Why am I still me?'
