"Kaelen!" Skodar yelled over the rising hum. "Your systems—can you transmit a data-burst? A raw, chaotic dump of everything you are? Your memories, your pain, your programming errors?"
Kaelen understood instantly. "A junk data-stream. It would be… noise. But the Prism will try to process it."
"That's the point! Elara, the charge—set it to overload and broadcast that noise! Lyra, cover her!"
While Lyra provided suppressing fire against the closing energy walls (a futile but distracting action), Elara scrambled to the base of the Prism, working frantically to modify the dissonance charge.
Kaelen stood beside Skodar, a wire extruding from his wrist port. "I will need a power source. My internal battery is insufficient."
Skodar placed a hand on Kaelen's shoulder, the silvery scars on his arm blazing. "Take what you need. Take the memory of the gorge. Take the silence of the lab. Take it all."
A conduit of crackling blue-silver energy connected them. Kaelen's body arched as he was flooded not just with power, but with the raw, unfiltered emotional resonance of Skodar's experiences—the love for his brother, the rage at the slavers, the grief for his grandmother, the hope for Dawnspire. It was the most illogical, chaotic data imaginable.
He channeled it, mixed it with the horrific archive of his own Reforging, and prepared to vomit it all into the Prism's intake.
"Ready!" Elara shouted, slapping the modified charge onto the Prism's base.
"NOW!"
Kaelen fired the data-stream. A screaming cascade of light and broken sound, a hurricane of pain and love, slammed into the Prism of Order.
The perfect crystal flared, then darkened. Its smooth thrum became a stuttering screech. It tried to process the noise, to harmonize it, but it was too much, too wrong. Cracks spider-webbed across its surface.
The constricting Resonance Fields flickered and destabilized.
Malakor's hologram distorted, his voice breaking up. "—chaos—unacceptable—miscalculation—"
"Your calculation missed one thing," Skodar roared, pouring more energy through Kaelen. "You can't tune a scream! You can't harmonize a heartbreak!"
With a sound like a shattering galaxy, the Prism of Order exploded.
Not outward, but inward, collapsing into a silent, dark point for a microsecond before unleashing a wave of pure, uncontrolled Dissonance.
The wave ripped through the Conductor's Core. It shot up the conduit channels, into the half-built ring of the Chorus. Across the entire construction site, machines shuddered and went dead. Reforged soldiers clutched their heads, their programming corrupted by the backlash of noise. The perfectly ordered song of the Canyons was replaced by a deafening, chaotic roar of broken frequencies.
The Chorus was not just silenced. It was scarred.
The strike team didn't wait. As alarms blared and the structure began to groan around them, they ran, following the path of broken machinery out into the chaotic, screaming canyon.