He just gives them the words, so simple in their creation yet utterly insane in implication. An immediacy to fit every prophecy with just one single title, an unintended usage of religious dogma executed by the quantum soul.

A rise in emotion by the Five, lives born and raised in a world beneath dead gods and five suns irrevocably tied with a single idea, a single concept, a single hope.

From the ashes and the dust, in the most desperate era of their dying world.

A fragmented savior, of a repeated and tired cultural fetish suddenly a true reality once again.

One that sits before them in the decrepity of a rundown saloon.

Judge Murphy begins the interrogation. “Define save.”

A scale unimaginable, the fate of unseen trillions upon trillions in a cycle measured in eons on a measurement of distance absolutely alien to a degraded race long fallen to superstition. All his processors focusing upon just one task: to condense the collective knowledge of all mankind for their forgotten kindred.

He takes their angle, from their world; their pain and their suffering. An extremification of empathy, the Being drowning his own senses in the experiential of it all.

The specter is there, as it always is.

The easiest solution to it all hovering above him, a single command awaiting activation. An end to all the thoughts and all the memories: a final termination.

The black shapes of ships covering blinding suns above, one last breath from his kind to theirs, just like her’s.

An explanation, Ar speaking to the Five without emotion. “This world is dying.”

The bare truth, a reality undeniable. Every prediction by scientists and priests confirmed in just a single statement by a being of incomprehensible power. All the riots in the cities, all the doomsayer cults in the outlands, all the starving children, and all the wars for the burned ruins of ancient towers.

“The mechanisms you refer to as the leylines have decayed. The resources necessary to sustain human life are no longer provided at a sustainable rate. This world can no longer survive in its current, unmaintained capacity.”

Human processes understand the meaning behind perfectly crafted words, of a doomed existence in the short term.

One more lie, Alto Carrin finding an unknown, yet omitted truth from the statement. Something more terrifying than a simplistic death by starvation and dehydration, an open mouth unspoken his words already predicted by the childlike monster in their midst.

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It answers the question. “There are corrective measures required to…”

Ar simplifies the words to superstitious minds, a scientific truth of the universe dumbed down to the very fundamentals of humankind. “To prevent the final destruction of this world in one hundred twenty seven point five six years.”

A vast network of knowledge able to give more, limited by factors of time and the utter ignorance of humankind.

They all stare, blank looks processing the statement.

“Ok, let’s say theoretically that the world’s about to end in a hundred years as you predict.” Madeline begins. “How are you supposed to fix it with our five… pieces?”

“This is related to the leyline tower.” The Judge connects; a religious prophecy, technical fact, and the statements by Being coming together in a cold response. “What are you attempting?!”

Ar answers him with the information. “There is a manufacturing facility located at the specified location nine point four six miles at the base of the referred ‘leyline tower.’ I’ll use this facility to create the device.”

The implication, the unspoken name, is enough to force the attention of the group back towards him.

Samuel makes the notion from his own observation of the black obelisk of nights previous. “The leyline tower of March is currently drawing energy at an increased rate; a majority of the utilities within the city have begun to fail as a result.”

Alto speaks up, a revelation carving out its idealization of humanity. A heresy at the greatest level, a terrifying power of gods above to be taken by the unworthy hands of mankind. “The Temple of the Savior has activated the leylines: they are attempting to forge the GOD GUN.”

“And all they’re missing is our fragments.” Madeline finally connects, a sloshing canteen of water on her waist retrieved and sipped upon. “Someone should tell them our knockoffs won’t replace the real ones.”

“The fragments are present.” The Being continues to insist.

Unbelief, sarcasm in her reply. “Yeah we know, you keep telling us.”

Alto Carrin asks the question of faith and belief, a conviction wavering against the soul that sits in front of him. A cleric coming face to face with his very idol, a bargain far too generous in a world of rage and death; of betrayals at the hands of the gods of old. “Why should we believe you?”

The child of the collective, Samantha speaks with an insight born of power, ecstasy from destruction in the wielding of her own weapon now situated upon her back. “He has had many opportunities to terminate us, yet he has not.”

An inaction speaking louder than lies, the argument simplistic yet utterly truthful. An observation of Ar caught by all, the foregoing evidence against him weighing light alongside a form that demands the trust of humans.

“So… we got a crazy murdering cult on one side and this thing on the other.” Madeline observes. “Am I free to go now?”

“No.” Judge Murphy orders coldly, a hand already moving towards his holstered rifle. Eyes gazing upon the creature, he asks the question for his own kind. “Assuming we succeed and the GOD GUN is created; what will occur?”

Ar gives him the answer, a contracted statement in perfect, innocent honesty. No obfuscation, no omissions; the simple truth. “I don’t know.”