Sebastian let go of her shoulders. He slowly turned around in the void.
He looked at the heavy, glowing golden chains wrapped around his wrists, his ankles, and his throat. He looked at the arrogant, sneering Warlord who thought he had won.
Sebastian's silver-tinged eyes flared beneath his cracked visor. He didn't feel the crushing weight of the data anymore. He didn't feel the exhaustion of the Juncture. He was one hundred percent stable, backed by the infinite processing power of his own planet.
"Hold my calls," Sebastian muttered. "This performance review is going to get messy."
—-
The golden chains of the Old World were supposed to be absolute. They were the foundational quarantine protocols written by the original Architects of the Ethereal Plane, designed specifically to lock down catastrophic errors that threatened the multiverse. They were mathematically unbreakable.
But math is just a suggestion when you hold the developer console.
