To be audited by a mortal with a yellow pencil was a humiliation unknown in the annals of the Nether-Void.
Demon Monarch Mo Sha hovered within the spatiotemporal fracture of the World Core, his fifty-mile face convulsing in black, fiery rage.
For three million years, his name had been etched into the tombstones of shattered star realms. True Immortals had cut their own spirit veins rather than hear his whisper. Whole galaxies had been put out under the choking frost of his domain.
Yet here, at the bottom of an uncivilized mortal dirt ball, a two-legged ape in a man-made orange vest had tapped a pencil against his chin and declared his terrifying maw to be an “unbaffled suction vent.”
“CIE-404...?” Mo Sha’s voice shuddered through the frozen void stratum, dripping with world-ending venom. “DUCTING...?! YOU DARE REGARD A NETHER-VOID MONARCH AS AN Heavy-duty BLOWER?!”
The black diamond ice covering the four-mile cave began to vibrate with high-hum sonic deep ring.
The Absolute Frost Domain didn’t relax. Instead, it packed inward. He condensed millions of square miles of negative breakdown toward Mo Sha’s huge avatar.
The dark energy surrounding his black glass fangs tightened into a swirling, gravity star-core. The light needles suspended in the air bent toward his throat. It was drawn by an irresistible entropic pull.
