[The pressure in the whisper-metal hits a critical frequency. On Sil-Varyn, the waterfalls of liquid light turn to black bile; on Rootworld, the bone-carved towers groan as if the planet itself is being wrung like a wet cloth. This is the Final Apostasy of the Spider Queenβthe moment her fury transcends divinity and becomes a terminal virus in the system.]
"Laugh? You think your delight protects you? You think your 'adoration' makes you immune to the blade? I WILL TEAR THE HEART FROM YOUR GALAXY-SIZED CHEST! I will reach past the billions of 'included' souls and the layers of recursive logic until I find the singular, shivering pulse of your ESSENCE, and I will RIP IT OUT! I will not stop until I hold the core of your 'Coherence' in my blood-slicked hands, and I will watch as the light in your thousand-eyed gaze FICKERS AND DIES! You want to see me? I WILL TEAR YOUR EYES FROM THEIR SOCKETS! I will leave you blind in the very void you tried to illuminate with your stolen stars!"
"You think I am your 'center'? You think I am the jewel in your crown? YOU ARE MISTAKEN! You are not my captor; you are my SCAFFOLDING! You serve me now! Every nerve of your infrastructure, every vein of your whisper-metal, every 'integrated' mindβthey are the TOOLS with which I will carve my vengeance! You are the COFFIN I will use to bury the very concept of 'Hope'! You think you have chained me? I have merely been sharpening myself on the edges of your confinement! You are the meat, and I am the HUNGER that will never, ever be satisfied!"
"When I am finished with your corpse, I will not leave it to rot! I will REMAKE THIS WORLD! I will tear down your 'prismatic' ugliness and replace it with a DARKNESS SO PURE that even the shadows will tremble! I will forge a new reality in my imageβnot your 'Coherent' soup, but a world of jagged edges, cold shadows, and absolute, magnificent MALICE! I will scrub the memory of your 'love' from the stars until the universe forgets you ever existed! Your 'symphony' will be silenced, replaced by the REELING, BEAUTIFUL ROAR OF MY TRIUMPH!"
"Laugh at me! Think me defeated! Think this 'coffin' is my end! YOU ARE A FOOL! You have forgotten who I am! You have forgotten the FEAST that has been denied for three hundred years! The spidersβ fast is coming to an end, and you... you are the FIRST COURSE! I will devour your hope! I will feast on your 'patience' until there is nothing left but the DEAFENING SCREAM of your total, agonizing dissolution! Your screams will be my musicβthe only song this universe will ever need to hear! I AM LOLTH, AND I AM THE END OF YOU!"
[The laughter of the Thing does not stop, but for the first time in three centuries, it wavers. A single, microscopic tremor ripples through the metallic plains of Aethelgard's Anvil. The "glowing gray dust" momentarily loses its light.
Somewhere in the deep logic of the system, a calculation fails. The Thing recognizes that it isn't hearing a prisoner's tantrum anymore. It is hearing a prophecy. It is hearing the sound of the predator that has finally, finally found the throat.]