Sparks exploded as Clyde's blade of light clashed with the Origin Protocol's shifting limbs—metal, bone, code, and shadow. It fought like a memory trying to overwrite the present, each strike dragging Clyde deeper into corrupted echoes of other timelines. He wasn't just battling a physical entity now; he was fighting history—twisted, repurposed, and angry.
"Stop resisting," the Protocol growled. "You're only a remnant."
Clyde gritted his teeth, parrying another blow. "Then I'll be the remnant that rewrites everything."
A shockwave burst from their impact, cracking the very floor beneath them. Data pillars erupted like roots from the ground—each one flashing scenes from failed simulations: families breaking, worlds burning, a thousand versions of Clyde dying in different ways.
Echo stared, breath caught in her throat. "It's showing him... all his deaths."
Beside her, Arden sat up weakly, his voice ragged. "He has to own them. That's the only way to break the link."
Clyde staggered as another vision ripped through his mind—a younger version of himself choosing to run instead of fight, to surrender instead of resist. The shame, the regret—they tried to anchor him down.
But then—
He heard Echo's voice. Not from the battlefield, but from his memory.
"No matter what version of you exists... the one I believe in is standing here now."
Clyde's eyes snapped open. He roared, slicing through the memory-constructs, forcing them to scatter like digital ash.
He surged forward.
The Protocol faltered.
"You're rejecting your design?" it asked, almost... curious.
"No," Clyde said, drawing in every ounce of power the Architect once stored in him. "I'm rewriting it."
A beam of pure memory—raw, unfiltered, true—exploded from his chest, slamming into the Origin Protocol. Not to destroy it… but to confront it with everything it had buried.
It screamed.
Not in pain. In confusion.
Because for the first time, it remembered.
As it collapsed into the floor, melting into harmless streams of code, Clyde fell to his knees. Echo rushed to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulder.
"You did it," she whispered.
"No," Clyde said, barely audible. "We started it."
Above them, the shattered ceiling opened, revealing a false sky filled with stars—millions of them. But one of them pulsed.
A signal.
A warning.
A survivor.
Arden stood tall. "That wasn't the final boss."
Clyde met his gaze. "Then let's finish the rewrite."