Damien's body was failing. His armor, once polished steel, now hung in molten shreds. His flames sputtered, guttering like a dying candle every time the rain of ink touched him. Each droplet hissed, searing skin and bone, leeching not just heat but will. Yet he refused to kneel. His knees trembled, but he remained upright, eyes locked on Clara even as her Codex form writhed in chains of letters.
Every breath felt like swallowing glass, but he still forced the words through cracked lips. "Clara… you're not gone. I know you're in there."
The Codex tilted its head at him, parchment wings folding like curtains of scripture. A thousand quills twisted in unison, poised to strike. But behind the faceless mask, there was hesitation—an almost imperceptible quiver in the endless voices.
Damien staggered closer. His flames were dim, but each step pressed against the chains wrapped around her, making them shudder. He extended a trembling hand. "Don't let him decide who you are. Don't let Yurin write you."
Yurin's gaze followed the outstretched hand, crimson light flickering in his eyes. His tone remained calm, almost indulgent. "Do you even hear yourself? You speak as though choice exists for her. Clara was never flesh. She was a draft, bound to the Codex before she even spoke her first word. You can't save ink from the page it was written on."
Damien's head snapped toward him, fire flaring across his back like jagged wings. "Then I'll burn the damn page."
He surged forward, his flames no longer golden but white-hot, fire so condensed it sliced through the ink rain. His fist struck the air before the Codex, and his fire became a blade of light that shattered the chains binding her. The void itself trembled as if scorched by defiance.
Clara's scream tore through the storm, half-human, half-scripture. Pages burst from her body, scattering like ashes. For a moment, the mask split, revealing her face beneath—tear-streaked, terrified, desperately clinging to Damien's presence.
"Damien…"
His chest heaved, the last of his strength pouring into his voice. "I'm right here. Come back."
The Codex shuddered violently, voices clashing, ink dripping faster like black blood. For the first time, her monstrous form faltered. She stepped toward him.
And then the sky spoke again.
Architect. Do not edit what is not yours.
The decree shook the void, thunder rolling across the inkstorm. The words were not sound but command, the kind of truth that bent reality itself. Clara shrieked, her body convulsing as if pulled in two directions—toward Damien's fire, and back into the Author's script.
Damien roared against the force, wrapping both arms around her trembling form. His flames surged higher, consuming him, burning away flesh and armor alike until he was little more than fire shaped like a man. He pressed his forehead against hers, defying the storm. "Then watch me. Watch me burn your script, your laws, your fate. If she's just words—then I'll rewrite them myself."
For a heartbeat, it seemed to work. Clara's chains snapped one by one. Her parchment skin cracked, revealing glimpses of the girl beneath. Her voice broke through the chorus of the Codex, faint but real. "Damien… I can't… hold it…"
He tightened his grip, even as his body dissolved into embers. "Then I'll hold it for you."
Yurin's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something passing across his calm mask—was it interest, annoyance, or amusement? He raised a hand, crimson light circling his palm. "You misunderstand, Damien. Fire cannot author. It consumes, yes—but it cannot create. And creation is mine."
Evelyn's laughter cut through the storm, manic and sharp. "Yes! Break, shatter, burn! Let devotion rewrite destiny! Oh, sweet Architect, let him try—let him crawl into your pages only to be devoured!"
The fracture in the sky widened, and something vast stirred beyond it. The inkstorm thickened, every drop a word, every word a sentence. Reality itself seemed to be overwritten before their eyes.
Damien screamed, fire flaring one last time. His arms were gone, his chest collapsing into cinders, yet he still clung to Clara. His body burned away piece by piece until only his flames remained, wrapped around her like a dying star.
The Codex wailed, torn between two masters—between the Author's decree and Damien's defiance. Pages split, words burned, chains cracked.
And in that collapsing void, Yurin Crimson's lips curved again, soft and deliberate.
"…Fascinating. He's not rewriting. He's erasing."
The words hung heavy, chilling even the storm. For the first time, Yurin's calm cracked with a note of unease.
Because erasure meant something outside authorship. Something that could unmake even the Architect.
The void trembled as if recoiling. Clara's body convulsed in Damien's fading embrace, her face flickering between girl and Codex.
And as Damien's last embers vanished into her chest, she opened her eyes—half human, half scripture—and whispered in a voice not her own:
"…The Author is watching."