Without his leased divine thunder, Lord Lei Qian was not a god.
He fell six feet out of the air, his gold-trimmed boots landing heavily on the shattered dark rock floor with an awkward, undignified stumble. His fine silk robes were torn, his hair hung in sweaty tangles. His chest heaved with the shallow, panicked gasps of a mortal whose oxygen supply had been cut.
He looked at the quiet stone stele. He looked at Lin Ke, whose fingers were fused to the green jade surface by ribbons of blackened, weeping flesh.
Understanding—cold, horrifying, and total—dawned in the Minister’s bloodshot eyes.
“You cut the pipe,” Lei Qian choked, his voice rising into a shrill, frantic pitch. “You didn’t just bypass the registry... You cut the old family lease! You unmapped my birthright!”
“It was never your birthright,” Lin Ke said, his voice flat through bloody teeth. “It was an unauthenticated memory lease with no billing address.”
Lei Qian’s face twisted in pure, suicidal frenzy.
“If the clan of Lei can’t hold the throne of thunder,” the Minister screamed, thrusting his trembling hand into his breast pocket, “then let the heavens fall back into the void!”
