It stands there, somehow missed at first glance yet utterly obvious now in revelation of its existence. Small form flanked by the massive throne, the humanoid shape barely visible amongst a halo of pale blue light shedded from the god behind it all.

Reality itself tears towards him, something staring down upon prophesied humanity.

The child upon the throne lives; a maximum of ten standard years upon the face of a divine form animated against the five human souls before it.

Black hair darker than the featureless steel sky above, impossibly blue eyes staring at the very souls of their creation. A human face, the expression drawn across a beautiful, innocent yet charismatic smile of soul crushing intensity. Something more than human, more than mortality. A creation from beyond the hands of humanity, the only solution to its origin found as proof in still living gods.

Robes of unstained white fabric draped across the small form, linen crossed with pale blue lines of ancient textile. Crafted with nanometer level precision, a single sheet woven together in the creation of clothing that falls in ever moving waterfalls of cloth animated in ceaseless imitation of its user’s movements.

It's something more than them all, a divine being that forces them all to stare, all to acknowledge, to all worship.

Human instinct finds recognition only upon the face and voice, a distant similarity amongst them.

Alto’s eyes widen at the sight, words spilling in a stuttering mess. “That’s… that’s… ”

Protocols interrogated, sensors pacifying wavelengths in the presence of a seemingly perfect replication of oneself. There will be differences; in the manufacturing of their bodies, in the base form of their software and souls; subtle errors in the imitations of their kind. A single truth guiding the exploration of the very surface of each one, both of the Beings taking in the momentary microsecond lapse in silence for the sake of observation.

Modifications over the course of eons eroding away a singular origin, yet still hidden within the subtle movements a confirmation of oneself.

It's him.

“That’s Ar.” Madeline finishes, a realization of her own held breath released with her voice.

It speaks, the divine voice filled with subtle, charismatic, amusement at the realization. It’s Ar’s voice but so much more. So much more intense, filled with living life and animated upon a body of unaging youth. “Out of all of us, every single one left here amongst it all. You bring them together.”

Judge Murphy turns back, a human instinct already untrusting of a previous icon as the mind begins to succumb to social warfare. A weapon lowered against the form, confusion upon a soul of absolute certainty and order. “Explain Ar.”

He’s frozen, the childlike form in the midst of the Five attempting to find a solution to the paradoxical existence of two; trillions of variables processed in seconds of consideration. A quantum soul left adrift in an ocean of probability, drowning amongst the ruins of his own kind, of his own fate. He honestly speaks. “I can’t.”

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The Divine speaks, in answering the directed answer from the interloper. “Don’t.”

The question of faith from the faithless, Samuel biting through the blinding pain tearing at his mind as he tries to make words. “What… what are you?!”

Alto finds the prophecy once again, answering before the words from the god to another divine. “And the savior shall sleep beneath the mountains beneath the holy walls, awaiting the arrival of the five…”

Judge Murphy shakes his head, insanity incarnate here in the depths of the rebellious city. An impossibility for the Federation, a still living divine within the borders; the strings of chaos perhaps architected by a monster of an era long forgotten. “Impossible.”

“This… this was a bad idea.” Madeline concludes alongside the senior, human mind attempting to compare differences through space. “The fragging hells is happening?!”

It smiles, a genuine expression in the acceptance of the translated word of divines above. Each word perfectly created, mastercrafted to sing towards each of the wielders. “Five great heroes from across this world, as it has been ordained at the beginning of everything.”

Alto Carrin begs for the answer, he needs the confirmation of its absolute truth. A heart of faith against his own god, of salvation finally here. “What are you?”

He says the word so easily yet with so much power, it's the singular word spoken beneath the breath of every single soul. An utterly insane implication, a truthful lie delivered in an answer for humanity’s chosen, for their kind. “I’m the Savior.”

The One standing amongst the Five makes the realization, makes the connection. Of one missing fragment found within that Being that stands before him, the ever minor difference discovered as the finale of consideration arrives through sensor systems. Insight catching the cadence, the words, the fitted personality within every subtle movement and glance from the crafted body.

It's him, in every form and every memory except for just one. It’s him before her words, from before her promise, from before her tears.

It’s him, watching the ships above him; watching as the world burns beneath them all. It's his vengeance for his own kind, for the sickening beasts that forced them into this existence.

It’s his true self.

He needs to warn them, he needs to defend against the words for her legacy. Those words to manipulate every human soul left in the ashes, across wastelands and deserts beneath five sources of power they worship as gods above.

It seduces them all:

The faithful heart of Alto Carrin fallen to a god, a justification for all the hope, all the death, all the pain. A wanderer’s universe in the completion of salvation, standing right there.

The twins of Armin’s Collective, Samuel and Samantha, are utterly consumed by the voice, by the words, by the movement. Hung on every word, manipulated to their very roots, in absolution from the desert and the huntarus.

Madeline McCormick believes. A world of gunfire and glory paling in comparison to their entire world, a bandit in realization of faith and divinity for their kind. Beyond the suffering, beyond the parties, beyond the politics. This is the truth of existence.

Judge John Murphy finds it; the true order of the world. From the chaos of criminality a perfection of law, the justice of humanity failing before the absolute of gods above. Nothing ever seen before in the decades left in the wasteland, the future of civilization embodied by just one.

Ar says the words, absolute and certain. “Don’t trust him.”