The Sanctum's collapse was no simple ruin. It was the slow death of a god.
The mirrored walls peeled like the skin of a serpent, sloughing off into rivers of molten glass. Columns of brass bent inward until they screamed, snapping under their own weight. The air itself seemed to twist, heavy with the stench of burning oil and the crackle of shattered equations, the glyphs unraveling into streaks of blue fire that raced across the collapsing ceiling.
Selene dragged Evangeline through the storm of debris, her body half-shadow, half-blood. Evangeline's head lolled against her shoulder, the Prism's final explosion having nearly burned her from within. The girl's breaths came shallow, yet steady, her lips whispering fragmented words—some her own, some borrowed from the Machine, as if both still fought for dominion inside her.
Elric followed behind, his cane tapping against the broken floor with stubborn rhythm. Every muscle screamed with exhaustion, yet his mind remained razor sharp. He knew this was not simply collapse. This was judgment. The Sanctum, the Machine, the Phantom—everything was folding inward, imploding beneath the one truth they could not account for: choice.
A roar shook the chamber. From the molten core staggered the Phantom, no longer infinite, no longer flawless. His once-pristine body was a ruin of exposed gears, sparking wires, and torn sinew. His mask hung broken, revealing one pale eye bloodshot with rage. He dragged himself forward, every step grinding against the brass beneath.
"You… unmade me…" he whispered, his voice splintered into static. "You shattered eternity with a child's whim."
Elric raised his cane, though he knew he had little strength left to wield it. "No, Phantom. She chose. That was enough."
The husk shuddered, sparks cascading down its chest. "Then finish me, detective. Strike… and prove that your choice is no different from mine."
Elric froze. In that hollow ruin, he saw Alastair Crowe—the dreamer who had sought to perfect the world through numbers, and who had instead become their prisoner. His cane lowered. "No," he said softly. "I will not grant you that symmetry. Die by your own flaw."
The husk staggered one step more, then crumpled, gears grinding into silence.
The Phantom was gone.
But even as the Sanctum collapsed fully around them, Elric could not shake the weight pressing against his chest. Victory had not been triumph. It had been survival—at a price none of them had yet calculated.