Four figures stepped forward, each one radiating a presence that felt impossibly absolute.
They were not divine.
They were not demonic.
They were beyond classification.
Each of them bore no distinct features.
No eyes. No faces. No defining marks.
And yet, Aiden felt as if they were gazing directly into his soul.
Their forms shimmered, shifting between possibilities—as if reality had not yet decided what they were supposed to be.
Finally, one of them spoke.
"Unauthorized anomaly detected."
"Reality deviation at critical threshold."
The voice was not a voice.
It was a statement of fact.
It did not echo.
It did not waver.
It simply was.
Aiden tightened his grip on his sword.
"And what does that mean?"
One of the Executors turned slightly, as if acknowledging his words.
"Correction is required."
Nihlus's breath hitched.
"They don't see us as threats."
Aiden glanced at him.
"Then what do they see us as?"
Nihlus's voice was grim.
"Glitches."
And then—
