The impact was not merely a collision of matter; it was a violent marriage of disparate laws. When the Grave-Worm’s serrated drill-maw slammed into the white ceramic flank of the Processing Spire, reality groaned. The sound was a deafening, rhythmic grind, like tectonic plates trying to occupy the same space.
Lucien felt the feedback shudder through his entire nervous system. The silver lattice on his arm burned with a white-hot intensity, acting as the final wire connecting the organic corruption of the worm to the cold perfection of the Spire.
"Hold on!" Lucien roared, his voice a frantic command that barely pierced the roar of tearing metal.
Selene and Nyra braced themselves against the pulsating ribs of the worm’s interior as the internal architecture began to buckle. Blue, acidi
