"The Administrator is just a human in the Real World. He built the Crucible. He wrote the Archangels. But he does not run the deep, core mechanics of the servers," the Archivist explained. "The corporation uses a massive, automated Artificial Intelligence to monitor all of their projects. It is a program that manages the hardware. It is called the 'Source'."Elijah felt a cold dread creeping into his exhausted mind. "When you used the Admin Key to stitch the Real World code and the Crucible code together," the Archivist continued, pointing a trembling, wire finger at the bridge, "you created an unauthorized bridge between the simulation and the host network. You did not just break the rules of the game. You threatened the integrity of the corporation's entire global system."The Archivist leaned forward. Its dry, rustling voice dropped to a terrifyingly quiet whisper. "The Source has detected your patches, Elijah. It has detected that a program from inside the Crucible is trying to

"Void-Step," Elijah commanded. His voice was deep, distorted, and sounded like a broken machine. The dark red energy flared. He didn't just tear a hole in space. He ripped a massive, jagged, bleeding gash in reality. He stepped into the red portal, leaving the ruined city of Prague behind. Inside the Obsidian Spire, New York, the 200th floor was a warzone. The roof was completely gone. The cold, gray wind howled into the room. Michael-Prime, the Archon of Order, stood in the center of the shattered black glass floor. The giant angel of blinding white light swung his massive, burning sword. Marcus, the Iron Marshal, blocked the strike with his obsidian spear. The impact pushed the giant gunmetal commander back ten feet, his heavy boots carving deep trenches into the floor. Marcus’s left arm was dented, and his silver eye-slits were flickering weakly. He was outmatched. Lyra, the Mistress of the Bleed, darted through the shadows of the room. She was a blur of matte-black darkness.

There were no human survivors trapped here. The area had already been abandoned. "Good," Elijah thought. "I can work fast."He ran onto the bridge. The wind howling from the fracture was so strong it almost blew him backward. He planted his heavy obsidian boots onto the stone, leaning forward against the gale of static. He reached the edge of the glowing white tear. He didn't bother trying to use magic. He knew the commands wouldn't work here. He had to patch the code manually, just like he did in Berlin. Elijah plunged both of his starry hands directly into the roaring white static. The pain hit him instantly. His hands began to un-write. The white noise chewed on his fingers, trying to turn his cosmic skin into useless data. Elijah screamed in agony. He grabbed the blue code of the Real World on the left side of the tear, and the red code of the Crucible on the right side. They were impossibly heavy. It felt like trying to pull two speeding trains together with a rope. "Move!

If Michael destroyed the throne, the Spire’s connection to the Ley-Lines would be severed, and the upload bridge would collapse instantly. The 12,000 humans would be trapped in the server when the Source formatted it. "Lyra cannot beat Michael alone," Elijah realized. His Overclocked brain ran the math. "She is a shadow. She cannot fight a creature made of pure, blinding, infinite light. Michael will erase her."Elijah needed to get back. He stood up. His starry legs shook. He was completely out of magical energy. His mana pool was at 0%. He had used everything to patch the Void-Fractures. He tried to gather the black and violet fire to open a Void-Step portal. A tiny spark appeared on his fingers, and then died. He didn't have enough power to tear a hole in space. "System," Elijah growled, forcing the magic into his hands. "Void-Step. New York."[ERROR: INSUFFICIENT MANA.][PLEASE RECHARGE AT NEAREST ESSENCE WELL.]Elijah yelled in frustration. He punched the stone railing of the