The whispers spread like a contagion through the cube.
"Your Weave is intricate," Phanthom said, his voice echoing as though a thousand mouths spoke in unison, "but every web is meant to be seen. And I am the shadow on the spotlight, the scandal in the applause"
At his words, some of Rattan's constructs faltered. Their glowing eyes dimmed, their frames trembling as whispers of scorn echoed through them. The more elaborate the construct, the quicker it buckled, vanity feeding into collapse.
Rattan's jaw tightened. His Aetherium Weave was strong, but he realized Phanthom was not attacking his machines directly. He was targeting pieces of himself left in the construct to give them life.
Phantom leaned forward on the throne that had reformed beneath him, his eyes glinting with cruel mirth "Weaving makes you a strategist, yes. But I…" His face shifted again, momentarily wearing Rattan's likeness twisted in mocking grandeur. "…I am the lie your Weave cannot defend against."
