Quarantine
The Machine then opens and holds his arms far out into each side, and starts to hover.
"Your time has come, child. I pity your situation, but you know not of what you're capable."
It opens its eyes.
The primodial feeling of being watched overflows within Buchanan, as streaks of white light hit him from all the sides, erupting from the ground and shattering reality, whatever Buchanan tries to do is simply ignored by the streaks and The Machine, he can barely comprehend the being that stands in front of it, it seems to not only manipulate, but be above time itself.
"Now it is time to end it all, now, it's no time at all."
Then, Buchanan and all around it erups with a blinding white light, absorbing everything.
Suddenly, the view from us, on the outside of it all, starts zooming out...
It first encompasses the galaxy;
Then the galaxy clusters;
Then the whole Universe;
Then the Multiverses;
Then all that is and isn't;
Then, it all stands within a crystal, which The Machine holds in its hands, Blastial by its side, observing.
The Machine's eyes open.
The crystal dissasembles, opening into a globe, the small spot of light traces paths between the place where it was and all of its projections...
The Machine makes a signal with its hand.
The crystal now moves and projects itself infinitely across, the white streaks now projected into slabs of white light, which ramificate and nudge the other spots around.
The Machine looks at blastial, then back at the extended projection of Buchanan across all of time and space, it claps its hand.
All of the streaks and points collapse into only one point, what would be considered the "present", The Machine cares not about reality, but it does about time, it has reduced all of Buchanan's influence into a single moment.
Blastial extends his hand, and grabs the small point of light, together with The Machine, he carefully operates it, using the god powers of creation and denial to erase all of Buchanan's time habilities.
Splitting and reforming Buchanan in millions and trillions, infinity and naught, they know all about such being, and remake the very binding force of energy and time that keeps its entegrity, when satisfied with the process, they both nod.
The Machine points at the now alternated point, representing all of what Buchanan will ever be, and moves it back into the crystal, at the exact spot it first stood.
"It appears our job is done here, Blastial."
Everything would zoom back in again...
First All that is and isn't;
Then the Multiverses;
Then the whole Universe;
Then the galaxy clusters;
Then the Galaxy;
Then, the white room.
The Machine and Blastial watch themselves from afar, within the white light.
It opens its eyes.
All the sequence of events start reverting, past The Machine eschewing Buchanan's form, past Blastial teleporting Buchanan, past the initial discussion.
...
...
...
...
Inside whatever room Buchanan is in, the walls and floor start running like sand, accumulating in one center pile, which then forms into a metal entity, reproducing a metallic voice:
"I've been informed you are someone I must talk to."
Behind The Machine, Blastial rises out of the floor, a black goop forming from the ground. He appears a little taller than usual.
"Greetings Buchanan."