Season 4 Finale - Phase 2 (Cycle 1)
It had been a long day.
The chaos wrought by the infected Magia.
The anxiety that intensified as rushed preparations began.
The pain festering from that march, that charge.
The roar of the God-Searing Light still rang in their ears, the fatigue of combat and attrition weighing down upon their bones and arteries, their organs sucked down into the ground, their blood mixed with oil and steel, rust and viscera. And yet, they held onto their hopes. Ushered their friends along. Became each others' shields and spears, weaving sorceries in union to beat back what sought to assimilate them all. Some cracked jokes, others sang songs, and still more simply enjoyed the fight. They were Starcalled. They were Immortal. They were gamers.
And perhaps, in the depths of their hearts, there were some too who decided that even if they were trapped in this world, even if they could never find a way back, even if they were afflicted with the madness that had consumed entire races, had given birth to monstrosities incomprehensible to the human mind, had delivered suffering endless and callous…they could remain themselves, in a world where they mattered.
Where good triumphed over evil, and where the flame of one's heart could overcome the fathomless darkness. Where fantasies could be made reality, through engines and code blocks.
"You are far more stupid than any human has a right to be."
Those were the words that the stained Valkyrie spoke, and she was right.
For as they gazed up, towards the sanguine light spilling out to coat the desolate earth, towards the immaculate orb that reminded them all so much of that demon's egg, they made their first mistake.
It was not the light that they ought to fear, but the darkness.
And so.
They.
Fell.
…
A lightless land, a soundless land. It had been a moment in which a blink could have elapsed, and that had been enough for the world around them to change utterly. Gone was the cratered terrain, the mud that sucked at their soles. Gone was the acrid stench of ozone, the putridity of carbonized flesh. No red sun burned in the sky, no angel beheld them with foreign intonations. Sirens sounded not in the distance, and the presence of death, of corruption, of assimilation, did not oppress their lungs and their mind.
Indeed, in a world of pitch black, where all they could see was themselves, the Starcalled realized then, that here…they could not even feel their afflictions and attributes.
The Original Sin did not gnaw at their stomachs. The threads of Fate had disappeared from their eyes. The Beastlord's blood begged for no release. The emotions that prickled your skin faded to a mute flatness. The Artifice that made it so much easier to pretend you were not of flesh and bone was stripped bare.
The mark that Death left upon the Immortal was effaced from your senses. In its absence, it was as void. In its absence, what were you?
A human. Alone. Isolated. Separated. A centrifuge had separated all virtual parts, leaving behind nothing more than an imposter wearing the flesh of their aspirations and fantasies. A grown adult, playing pretend. No false Gods urged you forth. No sentient weapons called your name. No fictitious disease clawed at your soul. What strength you possessed was not earned through your own merits. What sorcery you wielded was not grasped with a mind that truly comprehend. All of it belonged to the System. All of it was given by the System. And removed from the System, freed from the System, what were you?
Nobody.
Nobody was there to crack a joke. Nobody was there to sing a song. Nobody was there to enjoy a fight. Nobody was there to plan with. Nobody was there to interact with. Nobody was there, except you.
Except Her.
The darkness parted for her, that Mother of Machines. Her baleful gaze settled upon you, crimson hair flush with blood that did not belong to her. A mass of steel, a machine's approximation of a guillotine, scraped against the lightless land. No words to be exchanged, no thoughts to be shared. Only a callous disregard. As a spider would its meal. As a human would a pest. As a God would a star. You were an inconvenience to be snuffed out.
Bloodstains marred the mass of steel, flecks of bone stuck to the edge-nicks.
You were not the first. You will not be the last. But you are next.
She raised her weapon.
You are going to die.
She advanced.






