Gate Warden Chi didn’t waste time screaming threats.
He was a frontline commander who had suppressed seventeen flat uprisings across three dynasties.
He understood that when a rogue process broke holding, you didn’t debate its legality. You smothered its runtime before it could allocate more memory.
“Eight-Gate Space-folding Suppression Net,” Chi roared, raising his void hammer horizontally. “Lock the map points. Crush the medium.”
Fifteen sky executioners leaped from their cloud-ribbons. He dropped onto the outer edge of the exposed dark rock dais in a perfect circle.
They didn’t strike with their poleaxes.
They slammed the butt-ends of their weapons into the stone, chanting a heavy, deep-throated royal rhythm.
From each poleaxe rose a sixty-foot curtain of dark, shimmering amber light.
