by IMERPUS RELUR
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The system hadn't spoken in days.
Or maybe it had—and IMER just stopped listening.
Each moment now passed like static inside a dream. Memory, time, breath—none of it moved straight anymore. Something had snapped after the last sin was rewritten.
And he could feel it:
A presence breathing in his shadow.
Watching.
Waiting.
The console reappeared in the void—not summoned, but manifested like a cough from reality itself.
This time, no face.
Just flame.
A single flickering ember hovered in the middle of the black screen. No code. No system logs. Only:
> "BURN."
He stepped closer.
> "What do you want me to burn?" he asked.
> "YES."
The ember pulsed. Then it surged outward and consumed the console.
Heat didn't rise.
But memory did.
IMER's legs buckled as visions returned—not data, but scars.
His first betrayal.
The child who never forgave him.
The body he buried that still screamed in the soil.
One by one, they ignited inside him like cursed scrolls.
The system wasn't feeding him new sins.
It was returning his own.
> "Burn it all," it whispered.
"Or carry it forever."
IMER clenched his teeth and stepped into the fire.
He screamed.
Not in pain.
In clarity.
The fire was him.
And when it finished, nothing was gone—but everything had changed.
He emerged, breathless, but lighter.
And on his hand, etched in red flame:
> Rewrite Engine v∞ Activat