The air in the garden grew heavy, thick with the scent of ozone and something metallic—like blood on the wind. Jax stood at the edge of the Black Bloom, where the once-vibrant flowers had darkened into twisted shadows of themselves, their petals edged with a sickly golden glow. The ground beneath his feet pulsed in a slow, ominous rhythm, as if the very earth knew what was coming.
The Architect stood beside him, her silver hair drifting as though caught in an unfelt breeze. Her golden eyes burned with a fire Jax hadn't seen before—something fierce, something final.
*"It's time,"* she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jax didn't need to ask what she meant. The knowledge came to him through the roots beneath his feet, the golden filaments in his skin humming with urgency. The egg was stirring, its presence pressing against the fabric of reality like a knife against thin parchment. The cracks were widening.
And they were out of time.
The remaining fragments gathered around them—the Warden, her armor now fused with living vines that pulsed with golden sap; the Scientist, her form shifting restlessly between faces Jax recognized and those he didn't; the Martyr, still weak from her wounds but standing tall, her hands glowing with fading light. And the Paradox, flickering in and out of existence, always watching, always waiting.
*"The Spiral's heart lies beyond this corruption,"* the Architect said, gesturing toward the Black Bloom. *"We must cut through its defenses and plant the seed at its core."*
Jax flexed his marked hand, the golden filaments beneath his skin writhing in response. *"What seed?"*
The answer came not from the Architect, but from the garden itself. The earth trembled, then split open before them, roots twisting aside to reveal a single, pulsing orb nestled in the soil—smaller than the others, but radiating a power that made Jax's teeth ache.
*"The First Seed,"* the Architect murmured, reverence lacing her words. *"The last remnant of the world that birthed the egg. The only weapon that can reach it before it hatches."*
Jax reached for it instinctively, then froze as understanding crashed over him.
This wasn't just a weapon.
It was a *sacrifice*.
*"If we plant this…"* he began, his voice rough.
*"It will unravel the Spiral from within,"* the Scientist finished. *"And everything tied to it."*
*"Including us,"* the Martyr added softly.
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Then the Warden slammed a fist against her chest, the sound ringing out like a war drum.
*"Then let it be done."*
One by one, the others followed—the Scientist with a sharp nod, the Martyr with a whispered prayer, the Paradox with a flicker of resolve across all its simultaneous forms.
The Architect turned to Jax, her golden eyes holding his. *"This is why you were chosen,"* she said. *"Not just to fight, but to *remember*. To carry the garden's story forward… if we fall."*
Jax's throat tightened. He wanted to argue, to find another way—but the garden whispered the truth to him in pulses of golden light. There were no more tricks. No more cycles.
This was the end.
*"Then we finish it,"* he said, curling his fingers around the First Seed. It burned against his palm, its heat searing through his veins like liquid fire.
The Architect nodded. Together, they stepped into the Black Bloom—and the garden *moved* with them.
Vines lashed out like whips, carving a path through the corrupted flowers. Trees shuddered, their roots tearing free from the earth to form bridges over pits of bubbling black ichor. The air itself shimmered with golden light as the garden marshaled its full strength—one final, desperate push.
At the threshold of the Spiral's heart, the Paradox stepped forward.
*"I'll scout ahead,"* it said, its voice echoing from a dozen places at once.
Before anyone could respond, it *split*—fracturing into countless copies that streaked into the darkness. Some dissolved instantly, consumed by the corruption. Others made it farther before being torn apart. Only one returned, its form flickering wildly.
*"The heart is near,"* it gasped. *"But the Spiral knows we're coming. It's sent the Harvesters."*
As if summoned, the darkness *rippled*.
Shadows peeled away from the void, taking shape—not just the crystalline Reapers they'd fought before, but something worse. Twisted amalgamations of Spiralborn and Gardener, their bodies stitched together with golden filaments and black corruption. Their eyes were hollow voids. Their mouths stretched in silent, endless screams.
*"The lost ones,"* the Warden breathed, her blade igniting with searing light. *"Those who fell in past cycles."*
The Architect's hands clenched. *"No hesitation,"* she commanded. *"Forward!"*
And with that, the final battle began.