The end-post console didn’t hum. It shrieked like a dying star trapped in a bronze metal tube.
Above the black meteorite stone stand, two huge spirit equations hovered in the air, grinding against one another with the force of colliding earth-shaking plates.
The pressure between the two axioms created a warped gravity pull.
Small pebbles on the black glass floor began floating into the air. Meanwhile, the hem of Lin Ke’s ragged tunic whipped wildly in an invisible, circular squall.
“This is the high-pressure lock,” the Arch-Daemon said, stepping aside. “The First Master builders debated this for seven hundred years until their hair turned white and their bones dried into dust.”
Elder Wu clutched his forehead, groaned in pain, and sank to his knees. “My thoughts... They’re pulling in opposite directions! If the Dao is fixed, we suffocate in a dead pond! If the Dao changes, the ground beneath our feet turns to vapor! There’s no middle ground!”
Shen Yue’s twin brushes snapped in half between her fingers, the wood splintering from the mental recoil. “The two concepts can’t coexist within the same logic gate. It’s an irreconcilable high-pressure lock!”
Lin Ke stood in front of the console, his right hand resting on the dark rock frame.
