Twelve thousand units of flat malice crashed into the Asura Crucible like a falling black moon.
BOOOOOM—
The blast was entirely silent, occurring in the tiny map point between Lu Chen’s physical brain and his sea of mind.
A violent wave of phantom agony rippled through his central nervous system. His teeth clamped down with enough bite force to fracture flint. His jaw muscles bunched into iron knots. And twin streams of dark, high-pressure blood erupted from his ears, sizzling into white smoke before they could reach the collars of his oilcloth vest.
The crucible didn’t hesitate.
Its sky golden gears seized the twelve thousand units of churning deep-sea filth.
The rotting rot of the Corpse Demiurge, the reality-warping bronze taboos of the Sovereign, and the shrieking soul-frost of the Specter Primarch were dragged into the core of the golden fire. The crucible stripped away every trace of spiritual corruption. Millions of dead men’s curses were burned up into inert, tasteless cinder.
What emerged from the exhaust vents of the crucible was pure, packed sky mass.
