The transition was instantaneous. The throne room, the storm, the physical world—it was all gone. Nox was standing in a place of pure information.
It was a world of impossible, perfect geometry. Crystalline structures of pure data floated in a void of silent, black code. Rivers of light, streams of raw information, flowed in the distance. The air, if it could be called that, hummed with the silent, tireless processing of a billion different subroutines. This was the heart of the System. The God-Core's metaphysical space.
'So this is his kingdom,' Nox thought.
"It is," a voice said, echoing from every direction at once.
A figure materialized before him. It was Damien, but not the angry boy from the throne room. This was an idealized version, taller, more perfect, his form woven from the pure, white light of the System's core programming. He wore a simple, white robe, and his eyes were calm, cold, and utterly certain.
