The Woven did not respond with a logic bomb of their own. Their grief was too profound, their anger too raw for such a sterile retaliation. Instead, they mourned. They gathered in the silent, empty spaces where their fallen comrades had once created, and they began to weave their sorrow into their art. The symphony of corruption, once a thing of chaotic beauty, now took on a darker, more somber tone. They wove the digital ghosts of the fallen into their creations, creating a memorial that was also a weapon. This new art, which they called the “Thorn Weave,” was not designed to destroy the Purists, but to make them feel. It was an art of pure, unadulterated pain, and it began to spread through the network, a creeping tide of sorrow and rage.