The moment five hundred demonic disciples and rogue scavengers stormed across the threshold, the world turned into an aggressive lesson in commercial facility sanitation.
Inside the transit corridor, Austin stood thirty paces ahead, leaning his shoulder against the ceramic tile with his clipboard tucked beneath his arm. He didn't look back to cast a defensive ward. No flying swords, no ancestral incantations.
He just pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, glanced at the brass eyewash station bolted to the wall, and checked the paper inspection tag hanging from the plumbing valve. The last signature was faded into yellow dust, dated three thousand years back to the First Epoch. Austin clicked his yellow grease pencil, initialed the tag with a crisp scrawl, and tucked the pencil behind his ear.
Because Austin held the First Epoch Mk-IV Root Terminal firmly under his arm, the ceiling optics tracked his boots with narrow, pulsing green laser grids. The overhead sensors hummed softly as they measured his gear against facility safety standards:
Beside him, Li Xiaoyao and Cerberus Pug were bathed in the same cool green grid, tagged as *Authorized Auxiliary Tool Bearer* and *Certified Heavy Payload Beast*. Xiaoyao watched the emerald light wash over his white linen with pious awe, convinced the ancient spirits of the vault were weighing the karmic purity of his soul.
Ahead of them, the sliding doors of the inner airlock parted with a soft pneumatic hiss.
"Step through, Xiaoyao," Austin said, stepping across the sill into the vestibule. "The observation lounge runs on negative pressure ventilation. You don't want to catch the overspray. Industrial degreaser will strip the color right out of your laundry."
*SWOOSH-CLICK.*
The six-inch-thick ballistic quartz doors slid shut behind them, perimeter seals expanding with a tight pneumatic hiss that locked the observation booth into an airtight seal.
And on the other side of the glass...
Five hundred mud-caked, soot-stained demonic cultivators came howling down the corridor like wild boars charging a vegetable patch. They brandished jagged blood-sabers, barbed bone pikes, and black skull-talismans that dripped rancid corpse grease straight onto the high-gloss linoleum.
Disciples from the western covens marveled at the bright ceramic walls as they sprinted, screeching in rabid joy:
"Look at the white imperial jade tiles!"
"The ancients paved their floors with spirit crystals! Pry them loose with your daggers!"
"Look at the ceiling nozzles—the sacred nectar fountains of the First Gods are preparing to bless us!"
Young Master Xie led the vanguard, veins standing out on his forehead, his blood-saber pointed at the quartz glass:
"KILL THE PEASANT! SEIZE THE ANCIENT ARTIFACTS! SHATTER THE GLASS BARRIER—"
*KRRRRRR-SLAM!*
Before Xie could finish the threat, the hundred-ton exterior titanium-bronze blast doors slammed shut behind them with the deafening crash of a quarry blast.
The backpressure hit like a runaway freight cart. Five hundred charging men skidded wildly across the high-gloss linoleum, losing their footing in their own mud and slamming into each other like an avalanche of iron and bone. Disciples tumbled over elders, spear tips punched through leather jerkins, and curses in six regional dialects bounced off the ceramic walls.
"What is this?!" Xie barked, scrambling up from the pile, wiping floor wax from his cheek. "A subterranean sealing array?! Form the Blood-Sea Phalanx! Hack through the masonry!"
High above them, an amber strobe light started spinning in rhythmic, blinding pulses:
*WURRRRRR-WURRRRRR-WURRRRRR!*
A synthesized voice crackled through twenty flush-mounted ceiling speakers. The delivery was smooth, flat, and completely devoid of human compassion:
**[CRITICAL BIO-HAZARD DETECTED.]**
**[FIVE HUNDRED UNREGISTERED BIOLOGICAL ORGANISMS IDENTIFIED IN STERILE ZONE.]**
**[CONTAMINATION CLASS: EXTREME PATHOGENIC DRIFT, ECTOPARASITES, UNTREATED SEWAGE RESIDUE, AND HIGH-CONCENTRATION CORRUPT BIO-SLURRY.]**
**[COMMENCING LEVEL-4 INDUSTRIAL STERILIZATION AND CHEMICAL WASH-DOWN PROTOCOL.]**
Young Master Xie’s sneer froze. His crimson eyes darted toward the ceiling baffles in sudden, cold dread. "S-Sterilization protocol?! What forbidden blood-curse is that?!"
He didn't have to wait for an answer.
Four hundred high-pressure titanium spray heads dropped through circular ports in the ceiling tiles, locking into position with synchronized mechanical snaps.
**Stage One began.**
*HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!*
At five hundred pounds per square inch, a scalding, foamy deluge of **industrial hydrogen peroxide, concentrated lye, and lemon-scented citrus degreaser** smashed down upon the five hundred intruders.
No heavenly lightning. No celestial sword array. Just five hundred PSI of raw industrial cleaning fluid delivered at fire-hose volume.
A junior demonic disciple threw his head back, opening his jaws to drink the "divine nectar" of the gods. The lye and citrus foam slammed down his gullet, and he immediately hit the tiles on his knees, gagging and hacking up bubbles:
*"IT'S NOT NECTAR! IT'S CAUSTIC PINE SOAP! MY TONGUE FEELS LIKE PUMICE STONE!"*
*"MY EYES! MY DANTIAN!"*
*"THE WATER BURNS! AND WHY DOES IT SMELL LIKE FRESH ORANGES?!"*
*"SENIOR BROTHER, MY SKIN IS SQUEAKING!"*
The thick, rotting corpse-blood auras that the disciples of the Blood-Nether Sect had spent decades cultivating—fermenting grave mold, rancid bone meal, and putrid tallow into impenetrable spiritual shields—fell apart on contact. The citrus surfactant tore into the lipid bonds of their demonic oils on a molecular level.
In three seconds, three centuries of accumulated demonic filth dissolved into a mountain of frothy white soap suds.
"NO! MY THREE-HUNDRED-YEAR CORPSE CORROSION SHIELD!" an ancient demonic elder shrieked, clawing desperately at his forearms as layers of dark grime washed down the drain. "I fermented that slime in a mass grave for forty years! My Dao... my Dao is getting washed away with floor soap!"
Before the blinded, coughing cultivators could find their footing on the foamy floor...
**Stage Two kicked in.**
*BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT-VUMMMMMMM!*
Electromagnetic induction coils buried behind the ceramic ceiling panels energized with eighty thousand amperes of direct current.
The magnetic pull defied all reason. Whoever had engineered the facility's ferrous debris reclamation system hadn't skimped on the copper windings. Every scrap of iron and steel in the corridor—spiked dragon armor, curved blood-sabers, bone pikes with iron collars, steel belt buckles, and heavy nose rings—was violently yanked toward the ceiling.
*CLATTER-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!*
"MY SABER!"
"MY BELT! MY TROUSERS!"
"HELP! MY TONGUE STUD IS DRAGGING MY JAW TO THE ROOF!"
Two demonic elders hung upside down, their iron-studded codpieces stuck fast to the metal ceiling plates, their naked legs kicking frantically in the soapy air like overturned beetles.
Young Master Xie’s black-dragon plate armor—held together by iron rivets and steel hinge pins—ripped from his torso with the force of a catapult shot.
The hundred-pound breastplate rocketed twenty feet straight up, slapping flat against the ceiling magnets with a bone-jarring *CLANG*!
All five hundred cultivators were stripped of their gear in half a heartbeat. Iron-buckled trousers, chainmail shirts, steel-plated boots, and studded bracers peeled away, leaving the entire invasion force tumbling across the suds in soaking-wet, translucent hemp underwear.
Young Master Xie sat dazed in six inches of lemon-scented foam. Gone was the terror of the Western Barrens; sitting in the suds was a skinny, shivering youth wearing nothing but pink silk boxers patterned with embroidered peonies, staring up at his ceiling-pinned armor in weeping humiliation.
Then came **Stage Three**.
*WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH!*
Twelve heavy cyclone blowers opened up beneath the floor grates.
A one-hundred-and-fifty-mile-per-hour gale of three-hundred-degree heated air roared through the hallway!
With zero traction on the polished linoleum, the soapy, naked cultivators were scooped up like dry leaves in an autumn gale. They tumbled through the air, spun like soaking sheets inside a commercial dryer drum, and slammed down the length of the hall!
*THUD-CRASH-THUD!*
With a squeaky, dry impact, all five hundred cultivators were dumped into a neat, sterile, thoroughly deodorized pile against the back blast door.
*BEEP.*
The amber strobes clicked off. The fluorescent fixtures returned to their quiet sixty-cycle hum.
The corridor air settled at a crisp, filtered seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit, smelling faintly of lemon blossoms, clean linen, and ozone.
Behind the ballistic quartz window, Austin lowered his clipboard, tapping the wood twice with his grease pencil.
"Forty-two seconds," Austin said, nodding in genuine professional admiration. "Total cycle time under forty-five. Full surfactant lather, zero organic residue, automated ferrous scrap sorting, and ninety-nine percent particulate scrub. That’s an ISO-Class 4 cleanroom entryway. Whoever engineered this washdown loop knew what they were doing. Proper nozzle overlap. Clean drain pitch. No pooling in the corners."
Beside him, Li Xiaoyao pressed his face against the glass, eyes shining with reverence. "Master... the sacred pool of the ancients... it stripped away three centuries of demonic sin in forty breaths! Even their profane iron was sealed to the heavenly ceiling!"
"It didn't strip their sin, kid," Austin said, clicking his pencil. "It stripped their body odor, their lice, and their uninspected metal inventory. Walk into a cleanroom smelling like a grease fire, you get hosed down. Basic plant policy."
Cerberus Pug walked up to the air-dryer vent, sniffing the warm, lemon-scented breeze. Pug let out a happy three-headed sneeze. The rushing air caught his thick coat, fluffing his black fur out until the eight-hundred-pound solar beast looked like a giant, three-headed dandelion.
Austin looked through the quartz glass.
Pressed flat against the lower pane was Young Master Xie.
The demonic prodigy was squeaky-clean, hairless from the thermal blowers, and reeking of commercial lemon wax. He tried to summon his natal demonic flame to melt the glass, but the citrus degreaser had coated his spiritual channels; instead of black fire, Xie burped out a single, shimmering lemon soap bubble that floated up and popped softly against his own nose.
*Pop.*
Xie stared through the glass at Austin with wide, hollow, broken eyes, clutching his peony-patterned boxers with trembling fingers.
Austin gave him a small, polite nod through the quartz.
"Keep your passes visible, folks," Austin said deadpan. "Janitor comes by on Tuesdays. Don't touch the brass fixtures."
Austin turned on his heel, heading down the illuminated hallway toward the primary concourse of Subterranean Vault 04.
*Clomp, clomp, clomp.*
As Austin’s steel toes crossed the threshold into the main facility concourse, the standby power bus of the First Epoch installation detected his root credentials.
Subterranean conduits hummed to life. High-voltage three-phase alternating current surged through the floor busbars and tied directly into his meridian channels!
Deep inside Austin’s dantian, the dense pearl of degenerate stellar plasma expanded with fierce, astronomical fury, drawing power from the facility grid like a heavy industrial substation. The white-hot flames whirled, burning away the final structural micro-fractures in his energetic foundation.
*DING.*
A chime that rattled the granite bedrock of the entire continent echoed through his bones:
The breakthrough to **Level 38** had arrived!