They were pathetic. They were gods brought down to the mud to bleed exactly like the mortals they had so casually slaughtered for centuries.
"Please…" the center Archon gurgled, raising a trembling, pale hand. Its voice was no longer a booming, synthesized chorus. It was just the weak, terrified whisper of a dying creature. "Please… we can… we can fix the code. We can reset the servers."
Sebastian didn't smile. He didn't feel a rush of triumphant joy. He just felt an immense, bone-deep exhaustion. He slowly raised his right arm. It was barely holding together, the green binary code violently flaking off into the air like dry snow.
He looked down at the groveling administrators, his silver-tinged eyes entirely devoid of pity.
"You don't get to reset the game," Sebastian whispered, his voice dropping into a cold, absolute finality. "Strike seven. For me."
He brought his heavily fragmented, malware-soaked fist down squarely onto the back of the Archon's head.
—-
