Silence.
Then static.
Then—
A room.
Not real.
Not physical.
But infinite.
Kael stood in a void lit by shifting colors—memory, emotion, code—all colliding like galaxies.
He wasn't alone.
There were thousands of them.
All wearing his face.
Some younger.
Some scarred.
Some dressed like kings, others like monsters.
They stared at him in unison.
One stepped forward.
Dressed in pure white, with a golden crown stitched into his skin.
Crown-Kael.
"Welcome, Origin."
Kael looked around.
"This is the throne's mindspace?"
Crown-Kael smiled.
"No. This is yours. We are simply the versions of you best suited for global influence."
He gestured.
A Kael in a soldier's uniform saluted him.
Another Kael in priest's robes offered a prayer.
A Kael dressed as a CEO held a bloodied contract.
A Kael in black armor sat on a throne of bones.
"All of us were grown from your soul," Crown-Kael said.
"To lead, to command, to rule."
"You only need to choose."
Kael shook his head.
"I'm not here to choose."
"I'm here to destroy you."
Laughter rippled.
Thousands of Kaels grinning, smirking, mocking.
Crown-Kael raised a hand.
"Don't be naive. You are us."
"You only get to destroy us by becoming something worse."
And then they attacked.
The void shattered into an arena of memory and will.
Kael fought himself—again and again.
Each version wielded different powers, weapons, strategies.
The Strategist Kael trapped him in logic loops.
The Tyrant Kael used emotion as a blade.
The Martyr Kael tried to die and take him with him.
He bled.
He burned.
He screamed.
But he never stopped moving.
He remembered what Liora said.
"It doesn't crown kings. It copies them."
"So become someone un-copyable."
Kael stood over the fallen form of the Assassin Kael, chest heaving.
Crown-Kael approached again.
"No matter how many you beat… there's always more."
Kael looked up.
Blood on his hands. Ash in his breath.
Then he smiled.
And said softly—
"I don't need to beat them."
"I just need to make them see."
He dropped his weapons.
Closed his eyes.
And opened his mind.
A pulse of raw memory shot outward.
His mother's voice.
His father's betrayal.
The pain of being cloned.
The shame of failing.
The warmth of his team.
The first time Liora called him "real."
The void trembled.
The Kaels staggered.
One by one, they dropped their weapons.
Some knelt.
Some cried.
A few screamed and shattered—unable to handle the emotions.
Crown-Kael faltered.
"You… infected them."
Kael stood.
"No. I showed them truth."
But Crown-Kael was the final gate.
He shed his golden armor.
Became pure light.
"Then show me truth," he whispered.
And the last battle began.
They clashed in a storm of data and fire.
Fist to fist.
Memory to memory.
Kael screamed as his neural core cracked from overload.
But he didn't stop.
Because he finally understood.
This wasn't about control.
It wasn't even about revenge.
It was about breaking the script.
He grabbed Crown-Kael by the throat.
Dragged him into the pulsing heart of the mindspace.
And said—
"No throne rules me."
"No version defines me."
"This ends with me."
He ripped the algorithm from its root.
The entire system screamed.
Light flooded everything.
And the Omega Throne—
shattered.
Kael's body convulsed in the real world.
Liora caught him as the throne exploded behind them in a storm of sparks and failing code.
The Omega Crown's network collapsed.
Every clone deactivated.
Lucan, watching from across the chamber, stumbled back in horror.
"No… No, that throne was perfect!"
Kael, barely conscious, looked at him.
"So was I."
And then—
the Spire began to fall.