The death of a Pillar was not a quiet affair.
Silas didn't fall; he vibrated himself into dust.
The azure light in his chest turned red, then white, as the "Pulse" of a million awakened hearts overrode his "Static."
"No!" Silas screamed, his marble face cracking like parched earth.
"The Record... it must be... Still!"
"The Record is a draft, Silas!" Kian roared, standing in the middle of the disintegrating giant.
"And I just tore out the page!"
With a final, bone-shaking explosion, Silas vanished.
The Reservoir, freed from his influence, turned back into liquid with a violent surge that nearly swept the group away. The grey pallor lifted from the sky.
The birds in the air resumed their flight, though many fell, unable to cope with the sudden return of gravity.
Across the city, the statues became people again.
But they weren't the same people. They woke up with the memory of the "Stasis"—the memory of being aware while frozen.
The "Vitreous Stare" was gone, replaced by a raw, bleeding terror that began to turn into Rage.
Kian stood at the edge of the water, watching the city begin to burn.
People were dragging the Regulators from their posts. The "Architecture of Silence" was being replaced by the "Symphony of the Riot."
"We did it," Dante whispered, looking at the smoke rising from the High District. "We freed them."
"We didn't free them, Dante," Kian said, his voice hollow, his eyes fixed on the distant towers of the Archives.
"We just gave them the weapons to destroy themselves. Arial is still up there. And he's watching. He let Silas die because Silas was a 'Finished' idea. He wants to see what I'll do with the 'Unfinished' mess I've created."
Sion collapsed to his knees, his body steaming as the black veins slowly receded.
"It's so loud, Kian. Everyone is... so angry. Is this the future? Is this the Pulse?"
Kian looked at his hands. They were stained with marble dust and blood.
"This is the start, Sion. The Pulse isn't a song. It's a heartbeat. And sometimes, a heart has to break before it can truly beat."
In the high, dark room of the Archives, a single quill moved across a page of human skin.
Arial Valerius did not look down.
He simply wrote a single word beneath the names of the four:
[Acceleration.]