Three hundred paces past the site of the ambush, the promontory reached its total, terrifying terminus.
Lin Tao and Tie Shan halted side by side at the brink.
There were no guard rails, no warning signs, and no gentle slopes leading down into a fertile valley. The dark stone shale simply stopped along a razor-sharp, jagged line that stretched north and south as far as the eye could see, cutting through the crust of the earth like a butcher’s cleaver through cold suet.
Beyond that line lay the Great Boundary Deep gap.
It wasn’t a canyon, and it wasn’t a sea. Looking forward, there was no horizon—only an infinite, bottomless deep pit of total matte blackness. In the far cosmic distance, millions of leagues away, faint sharp-angled lines of glowing-white wireframes pulsed like the ghostly work frames of an unborn universe, tracing the skeletal boundaries of unrendered dimensions.
Lin Tao felt a cold, primal instinct screaming inside his mammalian brain to take five steps backward.
Every human survival gearwork developed over millions of years of evolution warned against standing at the edge of an infinite drop. But what made the Great Deep gap truly terrifying was not the height. It was the total absence of physical rules.
