Chapter 4 - Core of the Weave

The False Sovereign's mask fully shattered, crumbling to reveal not flesh, but a nexus of throbbing threads converging on a single, pulsating orb: the Heartcore. "Mercy," it rasped, voice fragmenting into echoes. Riven's grin widened. "Mercy is for the sane." He plunged the scalpel in.Threads erupted like geysers, lashing at him. [Heartcore Breach: Resonance Surge]. Coherence nosedived to 61%, the world splintering—colors inverting, time stuttering in loops of the kill. Essence flooded him: visions of Nocturne's birth, woven by an ancient Weaver to contain fractures like him. Power bloomed; his shadow swelled, birthing tendril-arms that devoured the threads wholesale.The spire's base split, stairs descending into abyss-lit depths. Screams harmonized from below—thousands of puppets, strings linked to the true Sovereign. Riven descended, host's protests drowned in euphoria. Walls wept memories: his Earth atrocities amplified, victims' faces morphing into spire denizens.At the nadir, the Core Chamber yawned—a vast dome where the True Sovereign lounged on a throne of fused souls. Towering, formless, eyes like black holes tallying infinities. "Transmigrator," it intoned, reality warping around its words. "You bring chaos to my perfect weave. Fuse with me... or become thread." Strings lashed—thicker, sentient, tipped with barbs of forgotten nightmares.Riven danced through them, severing swaths. [Ultra Overwrite: 50% Threshold Breached]. His form flickered: half-Kael's frailty, half-Riven's scarred insanity, now edged with spire-crystals. A barb grazed him; host-mind seized a sliver of control, forcing hesitation. Pain lanced—delicious.The Sovereign rose, weaving a cage of threads. "Your madness is derivative. Mine is eternal." Riven cackled, yanking a master string from the dome's apex. The chamber shuddered, throne cracking. But the Sovereign's form stabilized, eyes narrowing: "You awaken... the Eighth."A deeper fracture hummed below the floor—something vaster, hungrier. The host screamed silently. Riven pressed on, scalpel thirsty.