The screech of the higher-dimensional entity shattered the Hive labyrinth.
On the verge of consciousness collapse, Jane saw countless Creators' light cores shooting into the void like reverse meteors. Those points of light dragged long data trails, each containing emotions stolen by the Mainframe—a lullaby a mother sang to put her child to sleep in some epoch, the trembling of lovers' first kiss in another spacetime, and even the crisp sound of the Ark crew clinking their glasses before marching to their deaths in the 11th iteration.
These unquantifiable existences had now become the sharpest weapons.
Chapter 55