The blinding white glare was hot enough to peel the eyes from ordinary eyes.
Even with his newly forged iron-hard metal-glassy waveguides, Lin Ke’s optic nerves throbbed with a dull, burning headache. The Sovereign of Genesis was hovering directly over the end-post, its blazing bright core blazing at peak heat output, streaming dry, searing waves of heat that charred the hems of their tunics. Then they turned the air into an oven.
Although Oblivion had yielded its lock, Genesis refused to step down.
It sat on its massive heap of Mass Share-out locks like an enraged dragon hoarding gold. Trillions of uninstantiated star systems—unborn suns, molten planets, gas giants, and asteroid belts—were stacked in its staging registers, begging to be written into physical existence.
There was no physical space left to receive them. Because of that, the daemon was in an infinite write-retry loop. He drove bus heat toward the melting point.
“It’s choking on its own throat,” Meng Shan shouted, squinting through the nuclear glare as he held the bedrock wooden support posts. The big man’s iron-hard metal armor was blistering hot to the touch. His teeth were clenched so hard that blood dripped from his cracked lips. “Master Lin! If it dumps all that rock, where does it go?”
