The scheme was madness. It exploited the flaw of the Static Net—its absence of centralized authority—and transformed it into an advantage.
They were unable to organize a military attack. Therefore they chose not to attempt it.
Alternatively Cassiathon crafted a communication. It wasn't a command. A request to join in. He transmitted it across all channels in all languages both clear and coded.
To every signal amidst the Static. The adversary aims to enforce quiet over the terrain, at Shatterstep Chasm. They are constructing a prison of control. Our counter is not one voice. A symphony of chaos. At the given timestamp from your position take any action to disrupt a sequence. Launch a flare following an odd-count order. Loop dissonant tunes loudly. Have your patrols traverse a non-repeating path. Deploy a salvage drone, on a winding expedition. Generate stunning disorderly sound. Overwhelm the globe with uncertainty. Lets challenge their geometry with something incalculable."
He requested a display of synchronized chaos. An orchestration of disruption.
The danger was enormous. It could reveal the whereabouts of each involved group. It would use up resources. It might achieve no result.
The reply was not instant. Then as the timestamp drew near the Static Net burst into activity.
Out of Ironroot erupted profound seismic blasts triggered in a prime-number pattern trembling the ground in a tempo no device could foresee. The Sun-Striders adjusted their land-trains tracks to carve a vast absurd poem into the sand. Hopes Respite invited each resident to step at an arbitrary moment and vocalize one distinct memory of a departed loved one—a surge of a thousand varied phrases. Tiny clusters ignited bonfires in formations flew kites featuring asymmetrical motifs, transmitted static combined with the sound of childrens laughter.
This was not an assault. It was a performance art demonstration of rebellion. A billion minute, factors introduced into the worlds framework.
At Shatterstep Chasm Raziel was positioned on a command platform observing the advancement of the ritual. The demonic hordes formed flawless, luminous geometric patterns, their unified intent directing energy to balance the rifts transforming the rough stone into flawless, tranquil shapes.
Next the disruption occurred.
It was not a force. Instead it manifested as an metaphysical interference. The flawless concentrated intent of the legions essential to the ritual started to unravel at the margins. The unusual seismic rhythms from Ironroot generated a counter-melody that unsettled the ceremonial harmonics. The sporadic emotional flare-ups from Hopes Respite added psychic "static." The erratic motions of small groups caused a ripple, in the fabric of causality that the ritual aimed to solidify.
Raziel's head jerked upward his gaze sweeping the horizon as though he could witness the ridiculous striking resistance spreading over the continent. His jaw clenched. He could adjust,. It would mean diverting energy from the ritual's center weakening its potency.
"Maintain your positions!" he shouted, his tone piercing the escalating chaos. "Eliminate the disruption! The sequence has to remain flawless!"
However the "interference" was not a mistake to be eliminated. It was the hallmark of a persistent and irrational reality. It was what the ceremony aimed to remove.
Above atop a concealed ridge surveying the Chasm, Cassiathon, Sierra and Morgan observed. They noticed the flawless geometric illumination of the pattern waver, falter. The effort to level the chasm decelerated then crashed into a stop. The terrain stayed beautifully turbulently unchanged.
Raziel did not lose his temper. Instead he made a irritated signal. The legions started a strategic retreat. The ritual had been thwarted, not through a blade. By the cry of a million voices.
"He will return " Morgan stated, putting down his binoculars. "Bringing a method to hush the sound."
"But for the moment " Sierra said, a seen intense grin, on her mouth "the clamor prevailed."
Cassiathon showed no smile. He sensed the expense. Directing the transmission concentrating the purpose of the deed had drained him more, than a battle would. He rested firmly on his staff the surroundings blurring at the borders.
He had confirmed Nyxs insight. The shattered choir was capable of singing.. Their melody had delivered them.
However as they returned to their vehicle a fresh alert sounded on Sierras encrypted channel. It came from a scout monitoring the withdrawing legions.
Raziel did not head back, to his stronghold. He is taking a detour. Commanding a vanguard westward. Aiming for the location of… the Athenaeum of Broken Code.
The General had found a new target. Not the noisy choir, but its library.