Ancestor Nu Xing’s psychotic laughter echoed through the communication speakers of Vault #6.
“Die, Lin Mo!” Nu Xing shrieked, slamming his fist repeatedly into his obsidian console. “Ten seconds! Nine! Eight! Every dreadnought will vaporize in anti-matter fire!”
Inside the control hubs of all one hundred thousand captured warships, red self-destruct timers began to flash with violent urgency.
Sensors shrieked as internal reactor containment fields prepared to overload. The antimatter cores hummed with terrifying instability, ready to tear the Central Ring into cosmic dust.
On the bridge of Bullion Tower, Lin Mo did not even turn around.
Beside him, Star-Weaver Mu Lan stepped forward with a serene smile. Her delicate fingers held two slender silver needles, spinning glowing threads of spatial logic between her palms.
“Ten seconds is an eternity in contract law,” Shen Qiaoqiao remarked calmly, adjusting her glasses.
Mu Lan gave a gentle tug on her silver thread.
