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After this, the end is Inevitable, though it seems to take forever. What Time has passed before seems like the blink of an eye in comparison. The Construct, now large as a constellation, moves with grim purpose about the Universe, grazing on the rare leaves of Life, tended still by its Angels, and whatever it finds, is sacrificed. The Wall, now figurative in form but unchanged in function, becomes an icon of Terror to the scattered fragments of Life that hide fruitlessly in the corners of the Cosmos. There is no safe haven. The Construct has eternity to run its quarry to ground.
The Universe grows old and slow in its turbid expansion, and so does the pace of the Constructs progress. As a millisecond is to a millennium, so then is to now. The Construct moves irrevocably about the confines of Entirety, sacrificing all in its path. Stars not fortunate enough to end their lives before the Construct nears are now put on the Wall, whole, as Life, everywhere, id hunted down and used. Every erg of energy, every atom of matter, every spark of thought. Everything goes to the Wall, till there is only the Construct and its tending Angels, and the black vast empty void.
With nothing left to feed on, the Construct begins to utilise itself. Its outermost parts, its far orbiting machine eyes, now with only Nothing to watch for, its now foeless armada, its semi-intelligent energy fields, are all brought to the centre. They are exhausted of power, and their dead parts are sacrificed. The Construct shrinks in on itself, its Angels clipping, pruning its non-essential functions, always, always. They use their own without remorse, without regret, first sacrificing the old, the infirm, and with ruthless efficiency the Construct becomes smaller, crowding down around the never-forgotten Prime Vortex at its centre.
Eventually, after indefatigable Time has elapsed, all that remains is the Tower, The rigid clamp of the God Trap and the last of its Angels: eight Watchmen. Apart from this, the Universe is Empty.
They tend to the last, those eight. When there is no more they can do, they go to the Wall themselves, uncomplainingly, one by one. And on the Wall they wait, keeping the Trap tight shut with their dimming consciousness for one more day, one more hour, one more minute…
And then the Tower itself folds, as it automatically begins the last sacrifice, segment by segment, atom by atom. It collapses like a box of tricks as the perimeter of the Cold Hole shudders, until the Wall itself is all that is left, then it too eats itself and spits its last at the God Traps fragmenting Lock.
For a moment after, the Cold Hole endures.
Then, its edge shakes, splits in a dozen places, and with a mighty rending, collapses, giving up against the tremendous Force that finally, triumphantly broaches the walls of its billennia-fast cell. The leviathan entity explodes Free from the Trap, expanding in all directions in an instant of exultuous rage. It searches with the bow-wave of its limitless, outrushing hatred for something, anything to annihilate as it continues to erupt out, impossibly large, filling the Universe with the lethal anger of its being and the endless bulk of its malignancy. In a second, It is Everywhere, and it realises that there is no-one else, that there is nothing more.
Blackness. Vastness. Emptiness. Beyond the limits of my being there are none of these things, for there is nothing beyond my form. I fill all Space. There is no outside.
There is only me. I am Everything.
I am Samuel Hoy.
I am the Unknown God.
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