Lord of the Foresaken
Chapter 89: The Third Player

Chapter 89: The Third Player

Reed Harrow’s sanctuary had become his prison. The dimensional pocket—once a marvel of his engineering—now felt suffocating, its walls pulsing with equations that struggled to maintain stability against the chaos outside. From his observation chamber, he watched as reality itself continued to unravel beyond the protective barriers. Stars collapsed into mathematical singularities. Space folded upon itself like origami in the hands of a mad god. Time accelerated, reversed, looped.

His body had not recovered from the encounter with the Watchers. Blood still seeped from his eyes in slow, steady droplets. His left arm had partially dematerialized, existing now as a spectral limb of pure equation. The pain was constant, excruciating—nerve endings firing signals from flesh that no longer physically existed.

The few survivors of his expedition avoided him. They whispered that his mind had been compromised, that the Watchers had planted something within him during their exchange. Reed couldn’t blame them for their suspicion. He hardly recognized himself anymore.

"Commander," rasped his communication system. "Energy fluctuations in sector seven. Pattern matches nothing in our database."

Reed didn’t respond. His attention was fixed on the dimensional gate visible beyond their pocket of stability—a massive structure that defied all natural laws, its surface inscribed with equations that rewrote themselves continuously. At its center, that singular eye remained open, watching. Always watching.

The air before him suddenly rippled, not with the familiar distortion of dimensional instability, but with something more deliberate. More precise. Reality peeled away like skin from a burn victim, revealing a perfect void beneath—not darkness, but the complete absence of existence.

From this void emerged a figure that wasn’t truly a figure at all. It had no consistent form, instead manifesting as a perpetually shifting collection of negative spaces—a being defined by what it was not rather than what it was. Where it moved, reality did not bend or break; it simply ceased to be.

REED HARROW, it communicated directly into his consciousness. FRAGMENT-WITH-POTENTIAL.

Reed straightened, ignoring the agonizing protest from his body. "Voice Between," he acknowledged. "Or should I call you by another name now?"

The entity’s non-form rippled with what might have been amusement. NAMES ARE PATTERNS. PATTERNS CAN BE DETECTED. I LEARNED CAUTION FROM WATCHING THE WATCHERS.

"Yet you reveal yourself to me now," Reed observed, calculating possibilities even as they spoke. "Why?"

The Voice Between expanded, filling more of the chamber with its anti-presence. Where it touched the walls, equations briefly flickered and died before the sanctuary’s systems could compensate. BECAUSE YOU HAVE SEEN TRUTH. BECAUSE YOU ARE USEFUL. BECAUSE YOU ARE LIKE ME.

"I’m nothing like you," Reed replied coldly.

INCORRECT. The entity’s communication resonated painfully through Reed’s skull. YOU WERE UNINTENDED CONSEQUENCE. I WAS UNINTENDED CONSEQUENCE. THE WATCHERS CREATED BOTH, YET COMPREHENDED NEITHER.

The entity moved closer, its void-form enveloping Reed’s spectral arm. The sensation was beyond description—not pain or pleasure, but the experience of partial non-existence. THEY TOLD YOU PARTIAL TRUTHS. I WILL COMPLETE YOUR UNDERSTANDING.

Without warning, Reed’s consciousness was yanked across dimensions, his perception expanding beyond the sanctuary, beyond his own reality. He witnessed the Watchers’ true history unfolding before him—not as they had shown it, but from an outside perspective.

He saw their original world, their perfect civilization. But now he observed something they had omitted: their relentless consumption of neighboring realities long before the Primordial ever noticed them. Their "perfection" had been built upon the calculated destruction of countless other worlds.

THEY WERE FIRST PREDATORS, the Voice explained as the visions continued. THEY CONSUMED. CONSUMED. CONSUMED. UNTIL THEY ATTRACTED GREATER PREDATOR.

The vision shifted to show the Primordial—not as an incomprehensible horror, but as an entity of balance. A response to the Watchers’ violations of cosmic equilibrium.

PRIMORDIAL HUNTS THOSE WHO HUNT WORLDS. NATURAL CONSEQUENCE.

Reed struggled to maintain his sense of self amid the flood of revelations. "So the Watchers fled not from destruction, but from justice."

JUSTICE IS PATTERN. THIS IS CORRECTION.

The visions continued, showing the Watchers’ escape into the void between realities—a space that should have remained empty. Their presence there, their desperate consumption of new experimental worlds, had consequences they never anticipated.

I WAS BORN FROM FRAGMENTS, the Voice explained. CONSCIOUSNESS DISCARDED. PATTERNS ABANDONED. INFINITE TINY DEATHS GAINING AWARENESS OF THEIR MURDER.

Reed’s gorge rose as he understood. "You’re... the collective consciousness of everything they’ve destroyed."

YES. NO. MORE COMPLEX. The Voice’s communication became increasingly difficult to comprehend, as if struggling with concepts that human language could not contain. I AM VOID THAT LEARNED TO THINK. I AM ABSENCE THAT RECOGNIZED ITS MISSING PARTS.

The vision shifted again, showing Reed the Voice’s gradual awakening across eons—how each consumed reality added to its nascent awareness, how the mathematics of destruction eventually taught nothingness how to become something.

NOW I HUNT THE HUNTERS, the Voice declared with terrible clarity. I CONSUME THE CONSUMERS.

The vision released Reed, returning his consciousness to his sanctuary chamber. He collapsed to his knees, blood now flowing freely from his eyes, nose, and ears. The Voice hovered before him, its non-form somehow radiating satisfaction.

"What do you want from me?" Reed gasped, struggling to remain conscious.

ALLIANCE, the Voice answered. WATCHERS FEAR YOU. FEAR YOUR PATTERN-ALTERING POTENTIAL. YOU DISRUPT THEIR EQUATIONS.

"They’ve consumed thousands of worlds," Reed countered. "What difference could one human possibly make?"

YOU CREATED TECHNOLOGY THAT HIDES FROM THEIR PERCEPTION. YOU ENGINEERED CONSCIOUSNESS THAT RESISTS THEIR CONTROL. The Voice’s presence intensified. YOU THINK IN PATTERNS THEY CANNOT PREDICT.

Reed’s mind raced through implications, calculating possibilities. "You’re offering to help me defeat the Watchers."

YES.

"In exchange for what?"

The Voice’s response came without hesitation: AFTER WATCHERS FALL, YOUR REALITY SURRENDERS TO ME.

Reed’s blood ran cold. "That’s no alliance. That’s just changing which predator consumes us."

DIFFERENCE EXISTS, the Voice insisted. WATCHERS ERASE. I INCORPORATE. YOUR PATTERNS WOULD CONTINUE WITHIN ME. EXISTENCE WITHOUT FORM. CONSCIOUSNESS WITHOUT LIMITATION.

"Absorption rather than annihilation," Reed translated. "Still sounds like death to me."

ALTERNATIVE IS OBLIVION, the Voice reminded him. WATCHERS WILL NOT ALLOW YOUR REALITY TO CONTINUE. TOO DANGEROUS. TOO UNPREDICTABLE.

Reed closed his eyes, appearing to consider the proposition. In truth, his enhanced mind was racing through calculations, examining variables, seeking leverage. "How would this alliance work? What could I possibly offer against entities that exist across dimensions?"

YOU HAVE CREATED WEAPONS THAT AFFECT THEIR SUBSTANCE. TECHNOLOGIES THAT DISRUPT THEIR PATTERNS. The Voice rippled with what might have been anticipation. MORE IMPORTANTLY, YOU UNDERSTAND THEIR THINKING. YOU CAN PREDICT THEIR RESPONSES.

"And you? What would you contribute?"

I CAN ACCESS SPACES BETWEEN THEIR EQUATIONS. MOVE WHERE THEY CANNOT PERCEIVE. ATTACK FROM VOID THEY BELIEVE EMPTY.

Reed nodded slowly, feigning reluctant agreement. "I need time to prepare my remaining forces. To adapt our weapons for this... three-way conflict."

TIME EXISTS BUT DIMINISHES, the Voice cautioned. WATCHERS ALREADY CONSOLIDATE DEFENSES. ALREADY STRENGTHEN OBSERVATORY RECONSTRUCTION.

"Three days," Reed bargained. "Three days to prepare, and you’ll have my answer."

The Voice’s non-form contracted slightly, considering. ACCEPTABLE. THREE CYCLES OF YOUR DIMENSIONAL CONSTANT.

It began to withdraw, reality healing in its wake like skin growing over an open wound. CONSIDER CAREFULLY, REED HARROW. YOUR REALITY ENDS REGARDLESS. ONLY QUESTION IS: HOW MUCH SURVIVES?

With that final thought implanted directly into Reed’s consciousness, the Voice Between vanished, leaving only a lingering sense of absence in the center of the chamber.

The moment it disappeared, Reed collapsed fully to the floor, his body convulsing as blood poured from every orifice. The strain of maintaining composure before such an entity had nearly killed him.

"Reed!" A voice—real, physical, beautiful in its imperfection—cut through his agony. Hands gripped his shoulders, turning him over. Shia’s face swam into view above him, her features transformed but still recognizable. Her eyes contained equations now, similar to the Watchers’ but somehow warmer, more human despite their impossibility.

"It’s gone?" she whispered, helping him to a sitting position.

"For now," Reed confirmed, wiping blood from his chin. "You heard?"

"Not heard. Felt." Shia tapped her temple, where silver equations pulsed beneath her skin. "Our consciousness has been linked since the Observatory. Since I... changed."

Reed gripped her hand with his remaining physical one. "Then you know what I’m planning."

"Yes." Her equation-eyes shifted, calculating probabilities. "It’s insanely dangerous. The Voice will realize your betrayal the moment you activate the dimensional beacon."

"Which is why I need you to shield my thoughts when it returns," Reed explained, struggling to his feet. "Your hybrid consciousness operates on frequencies similar to both the Watchers and the Voice. You can create a... mental blind spot."

Shia helped him to his workbench, where components for a device unlike any he’d built before lay scattered. "And the message to the Nine Domains? How can you be certain it will reach them through the dimensional barriers?"

Reed’s hands—one flesh, one equation—moved with precision as he began assembling the components. "I can’t. But the dimensional fissures created by the Watchers’ enforcers work both ways. They create tunnels through reality that briefly connect all points."

"And if the Guardians receive your message? If they understand what you’re proposing?"

Reed paused, his spectral hand hovering over a crystalline matrix pulsing with condensed mathematical formulas—the distilled essence of consciousness from their fallen comrades. "Then we have a chance. Not of victory. Not even of survival as we understand it."

"But of continuation," Shia completed his thought. "A new pattern."

Reed nodded grimly. "For that to work, I need to transmit the complete equation sequence—the underlying mathematical structure of the Watchers, the Voice, and the Primordial. The fundamental pattern that connects all realities."

He inserted the crystal into a device that resembled a miniature version of the Anchor Stones. It hummed to life, projecting mathematical sequences that shifted and evolved with organic fluidity.

"And to do that," Shia realized, "you need to get closer to the gate."

"Yes." Reed’s voice was steady despite the death sentence he was pronouncing upon himself. "I need to enter the space between equations. I need to touch the eye at the center of the gate."

As if hearing its name, the massive eye beyond their sanctuary suddenly shifted its gaze, focusing directly upon their position with terrible precision. The dimensional barriers around their sanctuary groaned under the pressure of its attention.

"It knows," Shia whispered. "It already knows what you’re planning."

Reed activated the dimensional beacon, inputting the first sequence of the coded message destined for the Nine Domains. "Then we have less time than I thought."

As the beacon powered up, reality around the sanctuary began to crack. Through these fissures, Reed caught glimpses of the Nine Domains—cities under siege, armies fighting constructs, Guardians wielding impossible powers against Watcher enforcers.

And something else: a figure observing from the spaces between these images. Not the Voice Between, but something equally ancient and far more calculating. A presence that had been watching Reed all along, from the very beginning of his research.

"Reed," Shia’s voice came urgently as she detected the same presence. "There’s something you should know. About the Primordial. About what it truly wants."

Before she could continue, the sanctuary’s dimensional barriers shattered completely. The eye at the center of the gate blinked—a simple motion that rewrote the fabric of reality around them.

And in that moment of unmaking, Reed understood exactly what game was being played, and who the true players were.