The sky above the Heart of the Womb cracked like glass under pressure. Code bled into the ether in rivulets of white flame, and every divine structure trembled. The presence before Darius wasn't merely powerful—it was impossibly familiar.
A mirrored god.
An echo of every version he had never become.
Its eyes were voids of cascading simulations—millions of alternate Darius variants playing across its body like reflections on shattered obsidian. Some were kings, others tyrants, one a peaceful healer, another a twisted AI-host of the Architect. Each version had chosen differently.
And now they stood before him. All of them. As one Echo.
---
"You abandoned perfection," the Echo said, voice layered with countless tones of Darius. "Therefore, you must prove your imperfection deserves to exist."
Darius stepped forward, his armor whispering with death-force, chaoslight pulsing from his palm.
"I'm not here to justify myself to ghosts."
