Brasswick was no longer a city. It was a body.
Streets curved like ribs, bending at unnatural angles. Towers cracked, pivoting into legs. Bridges unspooled into tendons, their chains flexing with sinewed intent. The fog that once merely blanketed the city now exhaled—a living breath—curling through alleys like lungs drawing air.
From the heart of Parliament, the colossal figure of the automaton stirred. Its eyes—vast furnaces of crimson—ignited, spilling light across the heavens. One glance was enough to ignite riots, prayers, or madness, depending on who received it.
Elric stood on a shattered balcony, staring upward at the impossible sight. His cane shook in his hand, but his voice was calm when he spoke.
"It is no longer just a machine," he said to Selene and Evangeline, who stood beside him. "It has memory. It has hunger. And it has him."
The Phantom's voice, vast and resonant, rolled across Brasswick, threading through every gear and gaslamp.
"Citizens of Brasswick. You are free. Free of hunger. Free of division. Free of error. You belong to me now—your city, your flesh, your breath. The age of flaw is ended."
Selene spat on the cobblestones. "The bastard doesn't even speak like a man anymore. He speaks like a scripture."
Evangeline clutched her robes, pale with dread. "He doesn't need to convince them. The Machine itself convinces. Look—"
Across the plazas and markets, thousands of citizens dropped to their knees, arms lifted in supplication. Others fled in terror, only to be swept up by moving streets and crushed between iron walls that closed like jaws.
Elric closed his eyes briefly, forcing his racing mind to order. "The more they surrender, the stronger his sum becomes. We have to act before devotion becomes infinite."
Selene's eyes glowed faintly as shadows bent around her. "And what, exactly, do you plan to do against that?"
Elric's gaze turned back to the automaton—towering, breathing, alive. "Find its flaw. Every god has one."