The descent of the Servitor Supreme was not a quiet affair. As Amunatum neared the warehouse, he shifted the Zenith Force within him to strength and speed multiplier to x10. He didn't fly; he simply moved so fast that the air couldn't get out of his way, creating a sonic boom that shattered every glass window in the sector.
He landed in the center of the street, flanked by the Booliska—warriors clad in black Dashikis, and the Booliska—Akins in their obscured fierce, geometric patterns of Tyiwara masquerades.
"The structure is a dissonance," Amunatum stated, his yellow aura flaring as he surveyed the warehouse. To his Djedi eyes, he could see the Iku leaking out of the building like black ink. "It is an equation that refuses to balance. Booliska, contain the perimeter. I will neutralize the source."
The Maestro inside the warehouse heard the landing and struck his final chord.
"The King is here! Sing the Requiem!"
As Amunatum kicked the heavy adobe doors off their hinges, he was met not by steel, but by a wall of sound so dense it had physical mass. The Didactors began a Polyphonic Chant—a blend of minor keys designed to induce absolute despair.
Amunatum stepped into the warehouse. Normally, his Complete Immunity would make him ignore any attack. But the Didactors were using Didactic Entropy. They weren't attacking his body; they were attacking the "Meaning" of his existence. The music sought the "loopholes" in the emptiness left by his inability to feel pleasure or pain.
"You feel nothing, Horizon!" the Maestro laughed, his fingers dancing over a harp made of bone. "But even 'Nothing' has a frequency! We will turn your apathy into a vacuum that swallows you whole!"
Amunatum felt a strange sensation—not pain, but a theoretical "weight" on his Moea (soul). His yellow aura flickered. For a millisecond, the x10 multiplier stuttered.
"Logic," Amunatum whispered, his voice cutting through the cacophony like a blade. "Zero multiplied by any number is still zero. Your despair requires a heart to take root."
He reached out, and the Pyramidion at his side began to spin. The Eye of Ra inside it opened, emitting a pulse of Primordial Light that bleached the shadows from the room.
"Zenith Force: x50," he commanded.
In a blur of motion, Amunatum didn't strike the Didactors; he struck the air between them. The sheer atmospheric pressure generated by his movement created a localized vacuum, snapping the strings of the musical instruments and silencing the chant.
But the victory was hollow. The Maestro, bleeding from his ears but smiling, pointed to the center of the room.
"The song is finished, Servitor. The children have already 'imagined' the end."
The two rifts—one pulsing with the violet fog of the Psychorealm, the other with the jagged obsidian shards of the Dreamtime—began to expand. The warehouse started to dissolve as the two dimensions fought to occupy the same physical coordinate.
Amunatum reached for the children, but his hands passed through them. They were becoming "Narrative" rather than "Physical."
"Arora! Omari! Come to my coordinates!"
Amunatum called into his comms, his voice finally showing a hint of urgency. "The rift is beyond physical correction. I need Dibia Logic. Now!"