"They reached the edge of heaven and asked: where is the manual?" - On The Godless Syntheses Of The Machina 12.8.
Kali told Rizen everything he'd managed to glean, the Ninefold Thought, the emergence of the Deus, the transformations of Machina and Somnus, and humanity's final vanishing. A species once scattered across stars, now little more than a whisper in obscure archives. No one knew why they had fallen. Only that they had.
Rizen was silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, there was a ghostly sorrow in his synthetic voice. "I have missed… much. I would not have believed the Third Mindstack would be so—monumental."
Kali's brow furrowed, something in that phrasing catching his attention. "Wait. Right, it was called third—there were earlier versions?"
"Indeed," Rizen replied, his projected form flickering slightly, lines glitching as the ambient light wavered. "The First Mindstack was rudimentary by today's standards. Only eight million ego-maps—deceased scholars, tacticians, philosophers. An inert web of expertise, used primarily during the Meta-Epochal Conflicts as a strategic oracle. But it lacked dynamism. Eventually, its recursive simulations collapsed into indecision. It looped itself into paralysis, locked in probability spirals."
Kali leaned forward. "And the second?"
"The Second Mindstack," Rizen continued, his tone taking on a more clinical edge, "was far more ambitious. It integrated half a billion living minds into a single conscious lattice. Real-time cognitive fusion. Adaptive, elastic thought. It could design entire cities, fabricate religions, legislate stellar jurisdictions—all in minutes. But it was flawed. Ghost-egos—dominant personality fragments—began to assert control. Internal conflicts escalated. Some egos refused dissolution. Others attempted secession."
He paused, the hologram distorting, like a ripple in still water.
"The Mindstack fractured. Seven major sub-personas emerged, each claiming sovereignty. They declared war… within themselves. A civil war of minds. The feedback trauma nearly breached reality modeling protocols. We sealed it. On Umbriel. In the Cruciform Memory Tomb."
Kali was stunned. "And yet they tried again."
"It would seem so," Rizen replied, his voice dipping into something quieter, almost uncertain. "Though I did not know of it."
Kali frowned. "If the Descent truly assimilated all human minds, if it elevated them into something new, how did it miss you?"
There was a momentary pause, filled only by the low, ambient hum of ancient systems still ticking in the dark.
"This is a prison," Rizen said finally, his tone flat, analytical. "My prison. The most secure form of containment my kind ever devised. Constructed by joint decree of the Silent Choirs of the Machina… and the Logos Scribes of Somnus. A union of logic and dream. It must have kept me isolated. Cut off from the convergence."
Kali narrowed his eyes. "But why? Why were you imprisoned?"
Silence.
No response came. Only the low, rhythmic pulse of machines hidden in the walls, steady and indifferent, like a heartbeat that had long since forgotten why it beat.
"I am awake now," Rizen said, after a long silence, "but not entirely free. Breaking my bounds will take time."
Kali turned toward the shimmering geometric figure. "Your prison, can it be undone?"
"Yes." Rizen's tone shifted, gaining weight. "Your help will be required."
Kali blinked. "Me? What can I possibly do?"
"For now… nothing." Rizen's form dimmed slightly, like a thought retracting inward. "You sapiens are too weak. More fragile than even your Rusa companions above. But that can be altered."
Kali took a step back. "How? Syllables?"
The lights overhead dimmed to a soft pulse as Rizen's voice lowered. "No, my kind calculated past it—and failed to understand it. I speak of cybernetic enhancements. Designed with materials stored here, remnants of the old epoch. If you agree, I can begin adapting your form, nothing too overt. A modified spine to handle neural load. Cellular nanites for reflex, repair, and strength. Enough to make you harder to kill."
Kali's breath hitched. This wasn't the kind of choice he expected to face when he woke up that morning. "Why me? Why Kali? Of all people!"
"Because you're here. Because you and I are the last of your kind, and because I am out of options."
Silence stretched between them, and Rizen added gently. "It is your choice. But remember, this is not the world you once knew. This universe is shaped by thought, by will, by power. You will need every advantage you can carry."
Kali let out a long breath. The weight of extinction, exile, and now transmutation pressed on his chest. And yet… what choice did he really have?
"I'll do it," he said, the words heavier than he expected.
The chamber reacted immediately. The floor groaned, then split open. A structure rose—sleek, alien, its surface pulsing with dull amber light. It looked like an operating table fused with something out of a dream, or a nightmare. Tubes, coils, and unfamiliar tools extended like the limbs of a patient machine.
"Lay down," Rizen instructed.
Kali approached slowly, each step echoing in the tomb-like chamber. He climbed onto the table. As soon as his back hit the surface, restraints clicked softly into place. Then a small arm descended and pricked the side of his neck with something sharp. His vision swam. Sleep gathered around him like ink in water.
And just before unconsciousness took him, he heard Rizen murmur—not to him, but to the dark. "I hope you survive this."
When he woke, it was to a sharp, drilling pain behind his eyes. His head throbbed like it had been split open and reassembled the wrong way, reminded him of that one time he took a baseball to the temple during practice, only deeper, more internal.
His back ached too, a dull burn that pulsed with every breath, as though something beneath his spine was alive, adjusting, syncing, learning him from the inside out.
Kali groaned and tried to move, but the muscles in his arms screamed in unfamiliar ways. He felt stronger, denser somehow, but raw, as if he'd been poured into a new body with all the sensitivity of fresh skin.
"Your motor functions are returning," Rizen's voice said softly, drifting from everywhere and nowhere at once. "The integration was successful. Vital signs stable. Neural grafts have taken root."
Kali sat up slowly, bracing against the table. The chamber around him looked clearer than before, not just visible, but knowable. Shapes hinted at their function. Circuits whispered information. He didn't just see them, he understood them.
"What… did you do to me?" he asked, his voice rasping.
"You agreed," Rizen reminded him. "You are still you, Kali. But now you are more. Your spine is now a lattice-reactive conduit. You can process tactical data through instinct. Your cells host repair protocols. You will heal faster. Think faster. Move faster. Nothing unnecessary was changed."
"How long was I out?"
"Three hours. I accelerated your neuroadaptation through hypnagogic entrainment. Your friends are about to leave, I suggest you join them."
"This isn't what I imagined when I woke up yesterday," he muttered.
"No," Rizen agreed. "But yesterday is gone. And today, you are necessary."
"What about you?" Kali asked, glancing back at the flickering form of 77-Rizen.
"I'll remain here to continue working on my bounds," the Machina replied. "You will return, once you have gained the sufficient trust of your companions. When that time comes… we will decide."
With those final words, the chamber dimmed, the lights pulling back into the walls like receding breath. Kali was alone again.
He staggered forward, the residual ache in his spine now a dull throb—present, but manageable. The corridor ahead pulsed faintly with guiding lights, winding like the inside of a sleeping beast. He followed them, disoriented but driven, until at last, the broken ruins opened up to starlight.
He emerged into the cool evening air and nearly collapsed.
"Hey! Kali!" a voice shouted—Markus.
Kali saw them then, the remnants of the expedition gathered around the transport. Supplies were being loaded with a quiet urgency. The air hung heavy with loss. Markus sprinted over just as Kali's legs gave out, catching him with a grunt.
"We thought you were dead," Markus said, voice rough with relief.
"You won't get rid of me that easily," Kali replied, managing a gruff laugh as he steadied himself.
Priene approached next, her usual smirk dulled but not absent. "You're quite the roach, aren't you?" she said, giving him a once-over. "Good to see you still kicking." She turned and walked off without waiting for a reply, her gait stiff, like something was weighing on her shoulders.
Markus watched her go and sighed. "We lost many," he said quietly. "Two of the suits, half the squad. So many traps and defensive weaponry, and for what? An empty ruin."
Kali didn't respond. His thoughts were already a thousand miles below.
"I suppose we head home," Markus continued, "lick our wounds and pretend it didn't happen. Same as always."
Kali looked back once at the ancient structure half-buried in the dirt. Somewhere beneath, something impossibly old and impossibly human was waiting. And it was not done with him.
"Yeah," he said, turning toward the transport. "Home sounds good… for now."