Yoo spoke in Logos—the language where words became reality—channeling power through his illusion mastery:
"PRIMORDIAL-WITNESS-DESCENDING."
CRACK.
The sky above the platform—that purple expanse with three moons—split open. Not physically. Perceptually. Every entity present suddenly saw something impossible:
An eye.
Not metaphorical.
Literal.
Larger than planets. Older than concepts. Composed of fractal geometries that suggested it existed in more dimensions than normal reality could contain.
The eye of something so far beyond Primordial that the gap between them and it was like comparing insects to mountains.
And it was looking down.
Watching.
Judging.
The illusion was perfect. Yoo had crafted it from fragments of memory—that brief glimpse when they'd first fallen into this world, the city-sized eye that had looked through reality's tear. He'd rebuilt it. Enhanced it. Made it terrifying.
Entity-Six froze.
