The Deep Basin didn't have a floor. It had a drain.
They stood on the edge of a vast, spiraling funnel of scrap metal. Millions of tons of debris—ships, castles, mountains—swirled slowly downward, caught in a gravity well that felt like it was pulling on Kael's very soul.
And in the center of the eye, suspended over the infinite drop, was the Throne.
It wasn't a chair. It was a machine made of swords. Thousands of them, fused together by white fire, forming a seat large enough for a giant. Cables made of glowing solidified light ran from the Throne into the swirling walls of the funnel, anchoring the entire Rust Plains in place.
Sitting on the Throne was the First Sword.
He looked nothing like the legends. The legends spoke of a golden warrior. This man was a ruin. His armor was gone, replaced by scars that glowed with the same dirty gold light as the sky. He was fused to the chair, the swords of the backrest piercing his flesh, drinking his energy.
"He is the Keystone," Voss whispered, his voice trembling with a rare data-awe. "He is not just holding the door. He is the door."
Kael limped forward, leaning on his iron sword. The pain in his leg was a dull roar compared to the burning in his obsidian arm. The closer he got to the Throne, the more his arm resonated.
"First Sword!" Kael shouted.
The figure on the Throne moved. Dust and dried blood cracked as he lifted his head. His eyes were burning coals.
"Another one?" the First Sword rasped. His voice sounded like grinding stones. "The Spire is impatient."
"I'm not from the Spire," Kael said. "I'm Kael of the Ash. I came to get you out."
The First Sword laughed, a dry, hacking sound. "Out? There is no out, boy. Look down."
Kael looked past the Throne, into the hole beneath it.
It wasn't empty. It was full of eyes.
The Void Sea wasn't just a place. It was a living thing. And it was pushing against the bottom of the Throne, trying to burst through.
"I am the plug," the First Sword said. "If I move, the drain opens. And the world above... the world you want to save... drowns in entropy."
"Then we kill the thing pushing," Kael said, pointing his sword at the dark.
"You can't kill gravity," the First Sword spat. "The Anomaly... the Shadow... it is the hunger of the Void given form. It is waiting for me to burn out. Then it will put *you* in the chair."
As if summoned by the name, the shadows around the base of the Throne began to coil. The oil-slick darkness rose up, taking the shape of a massive, multi-headed serpent made of negative space.
THE REPLACEMENT IS HERE, the Anomaly hissed. Its voice was the sound of Kael's own nightmares. FRESH FUEL.
Voss raised his rifle. "Targeting the entity. Probability of success: Zero."
"Don't shoot," Kael said. He stepped onto the bridge of fused metal that led to the Throne.
"Boy," the First Sword warned, straining against his bindings. "Don't come closer. It will take you."
"Let it try," Kael said. He looked at his obsidian arm. The arm that the Void had given him. The arm that felt like a key.
He looked at the Anomaly.
"You want fuel?" Kael asked.
He drove his iron sword into the ground and raised his black fist.
"Come and take it."
The Anomaly shrieked and lunged. The First Sword roared in protest.
And the battle for the bottom of the world began.