CHAPTER 320: THE FATE OF THE ARCHITECT

The Architect’s shoulders sagged beneath his tattered shadow cloak; Virion’s beating must have drained him completely.

"I’ll tell you," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll tell you everything I can... but..."

He lifted his hooded head, and I could feel the weight of his gaze as it fixed on Virion with desperate intensity.

"In return, please tell me about her..."

I frowned, curiosity overriding my caution for a moment. "Who is she? An Overseer?"

The Architect shook his head slowly, and for the first time since this ordeal began, his voice carried something that sounded almost... human.

...Hmm.

Something about his tone triggered my instincts. Without thinking, I activated the Discerning Gaze, using my final charge to pierce through whatever deception might be lurking beneath his words.

"No, she’s... she’s someone, no, she’s the only important person to me."

The familiar sensation washed over me, and immediately I felt the telltale dissonance that marked a lie.

It’s a lie.

I glanced meaningfully at Virion, catching his emerald eyes with mine.

(He’s lying, Master,) I conveyed through the mental link. (But let’s listen to what he has to say first.)

Virion’s serpentine head tilted slightly, his ancient gaze studying the cowering Architect with renewed interest. He didn’t question how I knew - another small mercy I was grateful for.

(Alright,) came his reply, tinged with curiosity rather than surprise.

"Ok," Virion said aloud, his voice carrying that same casual authority that made reality itself seem to bend around his words. "You may start."

The Architect nodded, relief flooding through his posture as if he’d been granted a stay of execution.

What followed was a lengthy confession - hours of revelations that painted a picture far darker than I’d imagined. I listened in growing horror as piece after piece of a cosmic puzzle fell into place, each revelation more terrifying than the last.

When he finally fell silent, the chamber felt heavy with the weight of forbidden knowledge.

The scope of what he’d revealed was staggering.

There were seven other Overseers scattered across our world, each one anchored to dimensional tears that served as gateways for abyssal influence. The locations he’d provided painted a map of corruption that spanned continents - from the Crimson Wastes in the far south to the Frozen Reaches beyond the northern kingdoms.

But the Overseers weren’t the true threat. Above them stood beings he called the Void Lords - entities so ancient and powerful that even speaking their names could draw their attention across dimensions.

And their ultimate goal...

"The Abyss has only one desire," the Architect had said, his voice growing hollow as he spoke the words that would haunt my dreams. "To consume everything. Every world, every plane of existence, every spark of life and consciousness. It feeds on the death of realities, growing stronger with each universe it devours. Your world... it’s just another meal in an endless feast."

The casual way he’d delivered that final revelation - as if discussing the weather rather than the potential extinction of everything I’d ever known - made my blood run cold.

Although I didn’t fully believe all of his words, I was sure most of them were true. Especially his last words. Which meant...

We weren’t just dealing with individual threats or even a hostile invasion.

We were facing(probably in the near future) a force of nature, a cosmic predator that had already consumed countless worlds and would continue doing so until nothing remained but the hungry void itself.

The weight of that knowledge settled on my shoulders like a lead blanket, and for a moment, I understood why some secrets were meant to stay buried.

"That’s all I know and can tell." The architect finished.

"You don’t know anything else?" I probed again. "About their current plans or moves?"

"No." The architect shook his head. "I’ve been disconnected from them since I was locked up in here after all."

I nodded in understanding. The timeline made sense - so many years of isolation would certainly cut anyone off from current events, even cosmic ones.

The Architect’s posture suddenly straightened, and his voice took on a different quality - more focused, more desperate.

"Now," he said, fixing his gaze on Virion with burning intensity. "Tell me about her."

Virion remained silent for a long moment, those ancient emerald eyes seeming to weigh something in the balance. When he finally spoke, his voice was carefully neutral.

"I only heard about her during the war. She appeared on the Eastern Continent alongside the Fifth Void Lord’s forces. She was powerful, a storm of light in a sea of darkness. That is all I know."

The Architect nodded, and I caught a glimpse of something that might have been relief on his gaze.

"...Thank you."

My curiosity burned hotter than ever, but I held my tongue. There were more pressing matters to address, and whatever connection the Architect had to this mysterious woman could wait.

(Master,) I said, turning to Virion, (ask him to remove the side effects or whatever he did to the gifts he gave us.)

Virion nodded and fixed the Architect with that predatory stare.

"Remove whatever tampering you’ve done to the things you gave them. Now."

The Architect’s form seemed to shrink further into his cloak, but he nodded readily enough.

"But promise me you won’t kill me," he said, his voice barely audible.

Virion snorted dismissively. "Then forget it. We can do it on our own."

The Architect’s skeletal hands clenched into fists, and I could practically hear his teeth grinding together.

"At least promise me a swift death then," he said finally, the words torn from him like a confession.

I felt my suspicion spike even higher.

Why was a powerful manipulator like him acting like this? The Architect of Discord - a being who had spent the last hour weaving lies and psychological traps with the skill of a master craftsman - was now pleading like a broken man. The shift was so dramatic it felt almost...

Theatrical.

But what was his angle? What could he possibly gain from appearing so pathetic?

Is he trying to buy time? Or is he searching for ways to escape while lowering our guard?

Or is he trying to make us show sympathy for him and show him mercy?

...He didn’t think we would fall for it, right? Then why?

Just what are you planning?