The ground didn’t merely shake under Qin Guang’s descent. It sang with the cold, metal deep ring of a tuning fork struck against an iron coffin.
The Ghost Sovereign didn’t right away charge with his spectral spear.
He was an administrator who had ruled four billion souls for three hundred years. He didn’t expend personal working cycles when a self-running script could execute the termination.
Qin Guang raised his left gauntlet, twisting a heavy bronze seal-ring carved with the mark of the deep pit.
“Watchdog routine: wake,” the sovereign commanded.
From the boiling lake of black karmic sludge forty feet below the rim of the Dais, three huge geysers of pitch-black foam erupted into the gloom.
Leaping from the toxic mire, landing on the brass deck with a bone-shaking crash of stone-hard marrow and iron claws, came the Karmic Cerberus (San Tou Ming Quan).
It stood twenty feet long, an ancient build assembled from the stone-hard skeletons of three ancient apex carnivores, bound together by thick bands of tightly packed soul-lead and weeping skin-burning green memory-bile from its empty eye sockets.
