The gray fog did not howl or roar. It rolled across the dark void in absolute, terrifying silence.
It was the Primordial Soul-Rot Plague, the forbidden biological weapon of the Heavenly Plunder Bank. Wherever the oily mist passed, the starlight withered. Solid metal hull plates developed cancerous rust spots within seconds. Organic life fared far worse: scout soldiers exposed to the outer fringe saw their skin wither like dried parchment, their teeth loosen, and their immortal cultivation cores turn into gray, lifeless dust.
Atop the iron ramparts of Wall Number Two stood plague-master Elder Wu-Du.
He had a Goodness score of negative eighty-seven. His gaunt frame was wrapped in moldy black funeral shrouds, and his yellow eyes gleamed with sadistic delight. He waved a crooked staff carved from ancient grave-wood, chanting raspy curses into the void.
“Breathe it in, Taichu dogs!” Wu-Du’s raspy voice echoed through the cosmic rift. “This is the essence of ten thousand dead worlds! There is no antidote under the heavens! Your youth, your vigor, and your soul roots will decay into fertilizer for our bank vaults!”
The gray mist accelerated, forming a tidal wave a million miles wide that surged directly toward the Taichu fleet.
