*You have proven you can feel for infinite souls,* the Guardian acknowledged, its voice carrying grudging respect for what Parker had endured. *But can you choose between them when choice becomes necessary?*
The reality around them shifted again, the crystalline chamber dissolving into something far more immediate and terrifying. Parker found himself standing in a vast observation deck suspended between two dying versions of New York, both hanging in space like massive snow globes filled with eight million screaming souls.
In the reality to his left, the Street Rat's shadow plague had evolved beyond mere consumption. The darkness didn't just kill—it transformed, turning the city into a living nightmare where buildings breathed with malevolent consciousness and streets pulsed like arterial veins.
Families huddled in apartments that were slowly digesting them, while children ran through parks where trees grew human faces that screamed in eternal agony.
