There was no Braneworld. There was no Lower Observable Existence. There was the raw dark between existences, scattered with blue and obsidian bubbles full of survivors, and before them the vessel of Borys floated beneath his folding flower, and in his fingers he held pills.
Small. Grey. Unremarkable. An Observable Existence and every trillion-fold realm within them, condensed into spheres that caught no light, and in their translucent shells, if one looked closely, tiny trapped faces could be seen, frozen in everlasting microscopic agony.
Noah looked at him with savage, brutal eyes. THE Creature's burning gaze held murder older than words. Neither of them moved, because both of them understood, with perfect clarity, that moving accomplished nothing here, and THE Sealed One rolled the pills gently across Borys's palm and spoke as though discussing the weather.
