Moments after the universal broadcast, the Axiomatic Palace began to fill with the remaining subordinate Arbiters, pulled through the dimensional fabric by Malak's absolute command. They were the conceptual anchors of their respective realities, but now they moved with the reluctance of subjects summoned by a terrifying new sovereign. They were powerful, yet profoundly subordinate to the raw authority Malak now wielded.
The assembled Arbiters included:
Mars (Arbiter of War): A colossal figure, wreathed in the smoke of perpetual conflict, radiating incandescent Aggression. His conceptual energy surged with undisguised rage at the violation of protocol.
Toth (Arbiter of Logic): A shimmering, intricate being made of pure, interwoven geometry, radiating nervous Calculation. His form trembled, his entire conceptual structure rattled by the sudden, illogical seizure of power.
Selyne (Arbiter of Sentiment): A beautiful, sorrowful entity cloaked in deep violet shadows, radiating Sorrow and Loss. She wept openly over the execution of the Matriarch.
Hades (Arbiter of Fate): A cold, stoic figure of absolute finality, radiating Inevitable Consequence. He stood perfectly still, only annoyed by the unexpected disorder the coup had caused.
Mars, unable to contain his conceptual fury, slammed his enormous gauntlet against the crystalline floor. "This is an act of conceptual tyranny! You have violated Protocol Delta-9 and usurped the Nexus Core! I demand that you rescind this authority before the stability of the Multiverse collapses!"
Toth, his geometric light flickering nervously, spoke with cautious deference. "Monarch Malak, logically speaking, the sudden, unsanctioned shift in conceptual authority introduces too many Variance Anomalies. We require an immediate Stability Report and Variance Analysis to prevent widespread narrative failure."
Selyne's sorrowful aura spread through the chamber. "The warmth is gone," she whispered, her voice a desolate conceptual echo. "The Matriarch's belief in the beauty of unwritten stories is gone. Only cold, cold order remains. This is the death of all conceptual hope."
Malak, the new Monarch, stood on the dais where the throne had been, his porcelain face utterly placid. He simply watched the chaos of his subordinates, allowing their fear and defiance to crystallize before him. They were still clinging to the old, inefficient rules of the Matriarch. It was time to introduce them to the immutable law of the new reign.