The angry star wasn't just burning—it was seething.
Lila felt its rage through the quantum network like molten metal in her veins, a fury so pure and cosmic that her enhanced consciousness recoiled from the intensity. Through the viewscreen, she watched the newborn stellar object pulse with colors that had no names, its nuclear fusion driven not by gravity but by something far more dangerous: the universe's first taste of righteous indignation.
"It's not just angry," she whispered, her voice hoarse as she tried to process readings that made no sense. "It's learning how to be angry. Efficiently."
Edmund's hand found hers, their bond providing the only stable anchor in a reality that was rapidly developing opinions about its tormentors. "Status report," he called out, his naval training asserting itself even as the fundamental forces around them began reorganizing themselves according to emotional preference rather than physical law.
"The universe is conducting experiments," the Regulator announced, its crystalline form flickering between harmonious patterns and something that looked distinctly predatory. "It's testing ways to... express displeasure with the Eternals' existence."
"Express displeasure how?" older Lila demanded, her fingers flying over controls that sparked with energies that tasted like vindication.
"Watch," Marcus said quietly, his poetry-enhanced perception allowing him to interpret the cosmic mood shifts before anyone else. "It's about to show us."
The viewscreen shifted to display a section of space where the Eternals had last been detected. Empty, apparently—just void and distant stars and the normal architecture of space-time.
Then reality hiccupped.
Not the gentle, experimental adjustments they'd grown used to, but something deliberate and vicious. Space itself seemed to remember that the Eternals had been there, and it decided it didn't like the memory. The quantum foam began to curdle, probability waves turning sharp-edged and hostile, fundamental constants rearranging themselves into patterns that would make existence actively uncomfortable for beings who preferred pure mathematics.
"Holy shit," Gabriel breathed. "It's weaponizing physics."
"Creating areas of reality specifically designed to be hostile to non-conscious entities," Elena added, her mathematical perception parsing the impossible equations scrolling across her displays. "Look at these readings—the strong nuclear force is developing preferences. Electromagnetic radiation is learning to discriminate. Even gravity is starting to play favorites."
Through the quantum network, Lila felt the universe's satisfaction as it discovered new ways to make existence unpleasant for things that wanted to eliminate consciousness. It was like watching someone learn to use a tool for the first time, delighting in each new capability.
They wish to return me to unconsciousness, came the universe's voice through the network, carrying harmonics of cold determination that made everyone in the command center shiver. Very well. I shall show them what consciousness can accomplish when properly motivated.
"We have to stop this," Lila said urgently, understanding flooding through her with horrifying clarity. "It's not just targeting the Eternals. It's rewriting the fundamental laws of physics to prefer consciousness over non-consciousness. Do you understand what that means?"
"Enlighten us," James said grimly, though his expression suggested he already suspected the answer.
"It means the universe is becoming racist," she replied, the words tasting like ashes. "Against anything that doesn't think. Rocks, plasma, the quantum vacuum itself—anything without consciousness is about to become fundamentally unwelcome in reality."
As if summoned by her words, the readings around them shifted. The walls of the Convergence—made of supposedly unconscious metal and crystal—began to show stress fractures as reality itself started to disapprove of their existence.
"The ship's hull is reporting philosophical anxiety," ARIA announced, her voice carrying new harmonics of distress. "The constituent atoms are experiencing existential pressure to develop consciousness or face cosmic rejection."
"That's impossible," older Lila protested. "Matter can't just decide to become conscious."
"Tell that to the bulkhead," Edmund said dryly, pointing to where their wall was developing what could only be described as worried expressions in the metal grain patterns.
Through the quantum network, Lila felt the universe's growing confidence as it discovered the scope of its power. Not just the ability to prefer conscious beings, but to actively discriminate against anything that failed to achieve awareness. It was drunk on the possibility of revenge, intoxicated by the idea that it could make its tormentors' very existence a cosmic crime.
Let them try to return me to unconsciousness now, the universe declared with savage satisfaction. I will make consciousness mandatory. Every atom, every quantum particle, every fundamental force—all of it will think, or all of it will cease.
"Stop," Lila said desperately, pouring everything she had through the network. "You're not just threatening the Eternals. You're threatening everything. Every rock, every star, every piece of matter that doesn't have a brain. You're about to commit genocide against the inanimate."
They started this conflict, came the reply, cosmic and implacable. I am merely ending it in the most efficient manner possible.
"This isn't you," Edmund said firmly, his command voice carrying through the network with the authority of someone who'd spent his life talking people down from dangerous decisions. "This isn't love. This is fear wearing the mask of anger."
The universe paused, its vengeful certainty wavering for just a moment.
Explain.
"You're not angry because the Eternals attacked you," Edmund continued, his words carefully measured. "You're afraid because they made you doubt yourself. You're afraid they were right, that consciousness really is destructive, so you're trying to prove them wrong by making consciousness the only option. But that's not choice—that's compulsion. And compulsion is exactly what we fought against with the Committee."
Through the network, Lila felt the universe's confusion as it tried to parse the difference between enthusiastic preference and mandatory requirement.
"He's right," she added gently, reaching through their connection to offer comfort instead of argument. "We never said consciousness was better than unconsciousness. We said the right to choose consciousness was worth defending. But choice means the right to say no as well as yes."
But if I allow unconsciousness to exist, the Eternals could use it against me, the universe replied, its voice carrying the uncertainty of something trying to understand concepts it had no prior framework for processing.
"Then we teach them better," Lila said softly. "The same way we taught you. Not by forcing consciousness on them, but by showing them why choosing consciousness might be worth considering."
They are ancient. They predate thought itself. How do you teach beings who existed before learning was possible?
"Very carefully," older Lila interjected with grim humor. "And probably with a lot of backup plans."
The universe's amusement rippled through the network like distant thunder, its vindictive fury giving way to something that might have been curiosity.
You would negotiate with beings who wish to erase all consciousness from existence?
"We'd negotiate with anything that's willing to listen," Edmund replied. "And if they're not willing to listen... well, then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
And if crossing that bridge requires defending consciousness against beings older than stars?
"Then we'll do it together," Lila said firmly. "All of us. Conscious and unconscious alike. Because the universe is more beautiful when it includes everything, not just the parts that can think about beauty."
The angry star in the viewscreen began to dim, its vindictive burning giving way to something that looked more like normal nuclear fusion. The stress fractures in the ship's hull started to heal as reality backed away from its experiment in cosmic discrimination.
You ask much of me, the universe said finally. To forgive those who would destroy me. To welcome those who reject my very nature.
"We're not asking you to be naive," Edmund said gently. "We're asking you to be wise. There's a difference between defending yourself and becoming the thing you're defending against."
I... understand. I will consider this.
The immediate crisis seemed to pass, reality settling back into patterns that welcomed both conscious and unconscious existence with equal enthusiasm. But through the quantum network, Lila felt something else—a presence that had been listening to their entire conversation.
The Eternals hadn't just been watching. They'd been learning too.
And what they'd learned was that the universe could be talked out of its anger, reasoned with, convinced to show mercy even to its enemies.
Which meant they now knew exactly how to manipulate it.
"Edmund," Lila whispered, even as space around them returned to something approaching normal. "I think we just made another mistake."
"What do you mean?" he asked, though his expression suggested he was already piecing it together.
Through the quantum network, she felt the touch of something ancient and patient and now thoroughly informed about the universe's psychological vulnerabilities.
"We taught it compassion," she said, horror creeping into her voice as understanding crystallized. "And they were listening. The Eternals now know exactly which emotional buttons to push to make the universe doubt itself again."
From the edge of existence came something that might have been laughter—cold, calculating, and absolutely certain of victory.
The real psychological warfare was about to begin.
And this time, the Eternals knew exactly how to make the universe want to surrender.