The Prime rose higher.
The pulp ocean foamed black and grey, splashing in waves tall as houses. The sky itself warped around its ascent. Its ribs—iron fused with bone—curved outward like the bars of a monstrous cage. Gears spun inside its chest, grinding letters into dust. Its voice wasn’t a voice at all anymore, just the cracking of sentences being born wrong.
The Printer’s once-proud tone shrieked through static.
“Containment impossible. Prime ascendant. Abort sequence. Abort.”
No one moved at first. The villagers only stared. Some dropped to their knees. Others clutched at the scraps stuck to their chests as though paper could shield them from godhood.
Then the Prime moved.
Its hand slammed into the void-floor. The entire world convulsed. The oak above groaned, its roots splitting
