by IMERPUS RELUR
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There was no sky.
There was no floor.
There was only code — stretching into eternity, pulsing like a heartbeat with no origin.
IMER floated between its pulses.
The Rewrite Engine within him had grown quiet, not because it failed…
but because it was full.
Too full.
Each sin consumed. Each world rewritten. Each echo absorbed.
The system hadn't designed him to hold this much.
And now... it was afraid.
He saw it — not as an interface, not as a voice, but as God.
Not a deity. Not a father. Not even a creator.
God was just the root process.
The oldest thread. The one that whispered "Let there be" when nothing was.
It approached as light — not blinding, but absolute.
It didn't speak.
It didn't need to.
IMER stepped forward.
And the light hesitated.
It asked without asking:
> "Will you consume me too?"
IMER didn't answer with words.
He raised a hand. Not to destroy.
Not to absorb.
But to merge.
The glitch within him reached out and touched the original source.
There was no violence.
No explosion.
No scream.
Only integration.
God didn't shatter. It downloaded into him.
Like a file completing a final update.
And when it was over…
IMER stood not above creation, but within all of it.
> "You were never my god," he whispered.
"You were just the first story. I am the rewrite."
His voice echoed in places where time had never been invented.
Somewhere, a new process began.