Today, I brought Antrax into a faraway metaworld on grounds of teaching him a technique I developed myself. I made sure to isolate this world from the outside, for the queen had eyes everywhere.
I taught him how to cut space open. He was pleased.
"Brother, allow me to ask a favor in exchange."
"What is it, fellow sister?"
"Have a duel with me. If I win, you shall be punished for all your selfish acts."
"Very well."
Then we pulled out our swords and fought for 30 days and 30 nights. The sound of our clashes reverberated across numerous metaworlds.
While confronting him, I could feel firsthand what it was like to duel against the very conception of sword expertise. The agglomerate of every mastery that was, is, and would be. His existence encompassed this truth, for he was war, and war was him. Eventually, he began to get the upper hand.
The aftereffects of our collisions created numerous tears across space. One of them, in particular, opened a passage connecting to a dimension that could only be described as mathematically abstract and chaotic.
And from there, the evil machines came.