There was no earth-shattering explosion.

  The Tyr Steel airtight blast door, ten centimeters thick and strong enough to withstand bombardment from heavy siege ballistae, emitted a wet, tooth-aching sizzle—like a red-hot knife cutting through solidified lard, smooth without a hint of stagnation.

  Under everyone's gaze, a piece of the originally indestructible steel door panel was casually "wiped" away by a hand wearing a black velvet glove. The cut was smooth as a mirror, no curled edges, no melting marks; the molecular structure of the metal was forcibly ironed flat. If fingertips touched it, one would only feel ice-like cold hardness.

  The hum of the ventilation fan in the underground warehouse, the sizzling of electric currents, and even everyone's breathing were instantly cut off by some invisible force field. Dead silence surged like a tide; eardrums felt stuffy, and even heartbeats resonated stagnantly in the chest cavity.

  "My door..."

  Val Goldtooth let out a scream like a rooster being strangled. He poked half of his bald head out from under the counter tremblingly; the greed in those beady eyes was instantly replaced by extreme horror:

  "Three million... three million spent on Tyr Steel..."

  "Shut up."

  Carlisle shouted in a low voice, pressing the goblin's head down and pinning him back into the shadow of the counter. The greasy touch from his fingertips made him frown, but his left eye was already running at full power, beginning to analyze the intruder's ether trajectory.

  Three figures walked into the ruins with steps as neat as copy-paste.

  In this black market scrapyard full of the smell of engine oil, rust, and sweat, these three intruders seemed extremely out of place.

  They wore matching black double-breasted suits; the fabric was so stiff without a single wrinkle, as if just taken out from the most high-end tailor shop. A pale paper flower was pinned on the chest; wide-brimmed hats were worn on heads, black gauze hanging down, covering where faces should be.

  Even more weird was their movement—feet stepped on sharp scrap iron and oil stains, yet no sound was heard, soles stained with not a grain of dust, as if not walking, but "Gliding" at low altitude.

  Savage's Adam's apple rolled violently. As a veteran who had rolled in the wasteland for decades, his intuition was alerting madly.

  "These guys... something's wrong."

  The dwarf gripped that half-repaired magitech hand cannon tightly, palms full of cold sweat.

  "They have no weight."

  Lyria took a half step back, back against a discarded tire, ears pressed close to her scalp, pupils narrowed into thin lines—that was an elf's stress reaction facing natural enemies. Her fingertips turned white; natural mana ran wild in her body but couldn't be released, like a blocked stream.

  "Not no weight."

  Her voice carried uncontrollable trembling; the elf's rejection of chaos made her cold all over:

  "It's 'Nature' rejecting them. Wind bypasses them, light is swallowed by them too... they are foreign objects in this world."

  They walked without sound. Walking on that ground full of metal scrap, actually didn't make a bit of noise, just like stepping on air.

  "It's them..." Val glanced from the gap of the counter, almost biting his tongue off in fright, face turning pale green instantly. "Damn it... why did they attack directly?! We were still negotiating price! They are businessmen..."

  "Businessmen?"

  Carlisle sneered; that was the expression when hearing the biggest joke under heaven. He grabbed Val's collar, dragging that terrified face forcibly in front of him, pointing at those black shadows that were materializing:

  "Open your dog eyes and look clearly. That's not a buyer; that's a Cleaner."

  Carlisle's voice seemed wrapped in ice shards; every word smashed onto Val's face:

  "Congratulations, Val. The signal you sent did attract people, but they are not here to pay, they are here to cancel accounts."

  He let go abruptly, letting the goblin fall onto the oil-stained ground, then added coldly:

  "As for us? We are the free funeral objects in your 'Funeral Business.'"

  "Now, shut up and hide well. Don't let your blood splash on me."

  The leading "Undertaker" stopped ten meters away. He (or it) raised his head slightly; behind that layer of black gauze, there were no human facial features, only a mass of constantly churning, collapsing black vortex.

  [Warning: High-Intensity Reality Erosion Detected]

  [Signal Source Analysis: Unparsable Logic Dead Loop]

  [Hostile Unit Determination: Chaos Kin · Shadow Demon (High-Level Mimicry)]

  Carlisle's left eye popped up windows madly; red warning boxes superimposed together, almost obscuring his vision. That wasn't ordinary True Script stream; that was the "Garbled Code Crash" generated by the Truth Vision when facing incomprehensible errors.

  A voice exploded directly in everyone's mind. That wasn't a sound wave propagating through air, but a sharp mental piercing like fingernails scratching a blackboard:

  "Hand over... the record."

  No room for negotiation, no intonation; the cold command carried not a trace of fluctuation.

  "Respected... respected bosses!"

  Even though Val peed his pants in fright, the merchant's instinct still made him try to struggle. He raised his hands tremblingly, trying to stand up from behind the counter:

  "I am Val... the manager of this block... do we have some misunderstanding? I bought that black box with money, according to Blacktooth City's rules..."

  Zzzzt—

  Before Val finished speaking, that heavy mahogany counter in front of him suddenly made a crisp sound. A black crack appeared out of thin air on the counter; immediately after, the hard wood melted instantly into a puddle of viscous black liquid like corroded by strong acid, flowing along the ground. Wherever it passed, metal scrap rose with fine rust spots, as if time was accelerated by three hundred years.

  "Rules?"

  That voice rang again, carrying a trace of doubt generated by incomprehension, and deep contempt:

  "Ants... worthy of talking about rules?"

  With this sentence, the light in the entire underground warehouse suddenly dimmed.

  "Watch your feet!" Carlisle roared abruptly, but too late.

  Savage suddenly let out a scream. He discovered in horror that the shadow under his feet suddenly came "Alive." That mass of black shadow that should have stuck to the ground obediently now turned into a pair of pitch-black sharp claws, grabbing his ankles dead tight, and climbing madly up along his pant legs.

  "F*ck! What the hell is this! Let go of me!"

  The dwarf shook his leg madly, smashing that mass of shadow ruthlessly with the gun butt of the hand cannon. But physical attacks were completely ineffective; the gun butt passed directly through the shadow, smashing heavily on his own leg bone, making him grin in pain.

  Even more terrifying, that mass of shadow had extremely strong corrosiveness. Savage's heavy leather pants began to smoke and carbonize the moment they touched the shadow; bursts of severe pain like being splashed by concentrated sulfuric acid came from the skin.

  "Physical attacks are useless!"

  Carlisle grabbed Lyria who wanted to rush up to help; fingertips touching her shoulder found this proud elf trembling violently.

  That wasn't because of cowardice, but because of some deep, uncontrollable physiological nausea.

  "That's high-dimensional projection! Your arrows can't hit them!"

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Lyria bit her lower lip dead tight until she tasted the rusty bloody smell. The living longbow in her hand originally flashed with vigorous green light, but now dimmed rapidly like a bird strangled by the neck.

  "They are... devouring light."

  Lyria's voice was no longer cool, but became dry and hoarse, as if her throat was stuffed with ash. She looked at the shadow restless under her feet, body emitting an extreme vigilance and suffocation feeling when facing a "World Natural Enemy":

  "My natural resonance is broken... no elements here respond to me. They are not darkness; they are Void."

  "Hand over... or... Assimilate."

  Three "Undertakers" raised their hands simultaneously. With their movements, all scrap iron piles around were trembling. Countless shadows drilled out from gaps, like a group of hungry black poisonous snakes, spitting tongues, surrounding the three from all directions.

  This was a dead end. Can't hit, can't defend, can't escape.

  Carlisle took a deep breath, forcing his brain to cool down. He was gambling, gambling that the goal of this group of chaotic creatures was not just killing.

  "Stop!"

  He suddenly took a step forward, actively walking out of the cover. He held that blood-stained black box high in one hand, while the other hand pressed on Val's messy mahogany desk.

  There was an inconspicuous communication crystal flashing with faint red light on it.

  "You want this, right?"

  Carlisle's voice wasn't loud, but unusually clear in this dead silent space. There was no fear on his face, only a slyness and madness of seeing through the opponent's cards.

  Those black poisonous snakes stopped. The leading Undertaker tilted his head slightly, seeming to assess the threat of this human.

  "Give me... the record." That voice became a bit urgent, carrying unquestionable greed.

  "I can give it to you." A cold sneer curled on the corner of Carlisle's mouth; blue light in his left eye swept over that communication crystal, [Truth Vision] instantly parsing its underlying protocol.

  [Target: Blacktooth City · Emergency Defense Broadcast System]

  [Status: Line Connected | Microphone: Muted]

  "Just now this stupid goblin secretly connected to Blacktooth City's 'Global Broadcast' to save his life, wanting to call guards for help. Pity, he peed himself in fright before he had time to speak."

  Carlisle's finger hovered above the "Unmute" rune of that crystal; fingertips were less than one centimeter from it:

  "But I can help him finish."

  He shook the black box in the other hand, eyes sharp as knives:

  "The audio output interface of this thing is now facing the microphone. As long as my finger presses down gently... this recording about 'Order of Syntax Core Cargo Hijacked' will resound through the entire Blacktooth City through those hundreds of loudspeakers in one second."

  "Imagine that scene—" Carlisle advanced half a step, voice full of malicious temptation:

  "In this place full of desperadoes and greedy lunatics, if they know there is a priceless 'Primordial Fragment' here... guess how many mercenary groups will surround this place watertight within five minutes?"

  The Undertaker froze instantly.

  That face like black mist churned violently, obviously poked in the sore spot.

  As "Cleaners," their task was to erase traces silently. If they attracted thugs from the whole city and caused large-scale riots, their mission would fail completely, and they might even expose their tracks and be held accountable by the Order.

  "You are not afraid of me, nor afraid of this piece of scrap iron."

  Carlisle's finger tapped gently on the desktop, making knock, knock sounds; every sound was like knocking on the Undertaker's nerves:

  "But you are afraid of chaos. You are afraid that 'Secret' becomes a carnival for the whole world."

  "We can... trade." That voice became slightly softer, though still gloomy and cold. "Put down... hand. Assimilate you... Gain eternity."

  "Fuck your eternity."

  Carlisle swore. His back was soaked in cold sweat, but he won the bet. He used these few seconds of dialogue to delay for precious time, and his gaze had quickly scanned the surrounding environment, finding that real blasting point.

  [Environment Analysis: Complete]

  [Target Locked: Cantilever Crane (Located at Enemy's Rear Right)]

  [Key Component: Hydraulic Accumulator Tank (Old Model/High Pressure/Flammable)]

  [Tactical Simulation: Detonation Probability 87% | Estimated Damage Range: Full Coverage]

  He was looking for an opportunity to create "Absolute Light."

  "Savage!" Carlisle suddenly shouted without looking back. "Aim at that yellow tank! Now!"

  "That thing will blow us all up!" Savage roared; the burning pain of the severed limb made his vision black.

  "We die if we don't blow it! Fire!!"

  Carlisle threw the black box in his hand toward that oil tank fiercely—this was not to smash it, but to provide Savage with a dynamic reference point for aiming.

  At the same time, he grabbed the still-dazed Lyria, stuffed her roughly into the gap under the counter, and kicked Val's butt, kicking him in too.

  "Get in! All of you get the hell in!"

  "Ahhh! Go to hell!"

  Savage let out a desperate roar. He ignored the severe pain in his leg, raised that magitech hand cannon, pushed the power to the red zone, and pulled the trigger at the rear of that flying black box.

  "Savage! Jump!"

  The moment the dwarf pulled the trigger, he also used the recoil to pounce fiercely toward the counter. Carlisle drilled in last; his hand pulled down a red emergency lever inside the counter fiercely.

  Three black steel plates five centimeters thick popped up from around the counter instantly, closing together. Accompanied by the hiss of high-pressure air valves, the four were deadlocked in a narrow sealed cabin of only two cubic meters.

  Zzzzt—BOOM!

  A thick, unstable blue electric arc gushed out. It grazed the black box, hitting the weak point of that high-pressure oil tank precisely.

  First was a sharp metal tearing sound, that was the sound of the oil tank disintegrating unable to withstand internal pressure. Immediately after, hundreds of liters of golden, high-temperature, high-pressure industrial hydraulic oil erupted like a fountain, atomizing instantly, filling the entire basement sky.

  The arc ignited the oil mist.

  RUMBLE————!!!

  This wasn't a magic fireball; this was the original anger of physics. A dazzling, incandescent fireball expanded instantly in the narrow underground space. Strong shockwaves mixed with high temperature, like a huge hand of light, swept away all dark corners.

  THUMP————!!!

  The terrifying shockwave smashed onto the steel plates, making a muffled thunderous noise. Even separated by heavy armor, the four still had eardrums aching severely from the shock, hearts beating wildly.

  The entire sealed cabin was like a small boat hitting a reef in a storm, bumping violently, rolling, and finally smashing heavily into the corner.

  The temperature outside soared instantly; even inside the sealed cabin, one could feel the scorching high temperature from the iron plates.

  In this instant, there were no shadows in the basement. Because the light was too bright. Bright enough that even dust was illuminated transparently.

  "Ah————!!"

  Those three "Undertakers" who had maintained high-cold and arrogance let out extremely shrill screams the moment the fire lit up. For creatures existing relying on shadows, this omnidirectional strong light was not just heat, but "Erasure of Presence."

  The black suits on their bodies burned out instantly, revealing the bodiless figures underneath. Those black mists boiled and evaporated violently in the strong light, like snowmen splashed with sulfuric acid.

  "Ahhh! My shop! My money!" Val let out a pig-killing scream in the darkness, but in the narrow space, this sound made people's brains hurt.

  "Shut up! Or I'll throw you out!" Savage slapped Val's head, making him physically mute.

  Lyria curled up in the corner, enduring the severe pain of lungs burned by the heat wave, controlling the rhythm of breathing as much as possible.

  In the darkness, her amber eyes stared tightly at Carlisle's blurred and stiff back figure.

  In her long three-hundred-year life, she had seen countless humans. Those so-called warriors, mages, even kings, facing this desperate situation of certain death, either collapsed screaming or knelt praying.

  But this man was different.

  Just in that instant just now, she didn't feel a trace of heat named "Courage" on him, only felt a calculation colder than extreme cold. He unhesitatingly treated himself, companions, even this room as chips that could be sacrificed, just to exchange for that only "Survival Solution."

  "Lunatic... or some kind of machine in human skin."

  Lyria silently corrected her rating of Carlisle in her heart.

  That contempt originally generated by racial difference subsided a bit, replaced by a vigilance and recognition of treating a "Peer Predator."

  This "Short-lived Species" might really be qualified to touch that door.

  Unknown how long passed, the roar outside finally subsided, leaving only the crackling sound of burning fire.

  "Not over yet."

  Carlisle pressed against the hot steel plate to listen, then pushed open the mechanical lock buckle hard.

  Hiss—

  As the sealed cabin opened, a smell of burnt plastic and rolling heat waves rushed in. Carlisle drilled out of the ruins first.

  The scene before eyes was like hell. The entire underground warehouse no longer existed; all shelves, parts, even that angel skeleton were melted by high temperature, twisted into a pile of still flowing metal magma.

  And in the center of the explosion, those three arrogant "Undertakers" had long vanished without a trace. Where they stood, only three puddles of rapidly evaporating black mucus remained, still making sizzling sounds on the floor.

  Under the double baptism of omnidirectional strong light and shockwaves, even shadows would be physically erased.

  Carlisle felt his back hurting burningly like being burned by fire. The air was filled with scorch smell, ozone smell, and suffocating smoke and dust. The originally neat underground warehouse had turned into ruins.

  "Cough cough... dead?" Savage crawled out with a dirty face, looking at the surrounding melted metal, still having lingering fear. "This power... fortunately this fat dead guy is afraid of death, installed such a turtle shell."

  "Not completely dead."

  Carlisle stared at those few puddles of black mud sizzling on the floor trying to gather again, the hunchbacked figure of that crazy old man suddenly appearing in his mind.

  "My mentor once locked a low-level Shadow Demon in a magic bottle, even gave it a name called 'Spot.'"

  Carlisle coughed up a mouthful of bloody saliva, a bitter arc curling on the corner of his mouth, as if telling a not-funny joke:

  "He always laughed at me then for trying to use Fireball to burn that bottle. He said: 'Carlisle, you idiot. Killing this kind of thing is like trying to use an eraser to erase the picture projected by a projector on the wall. As long as the light source is still there, the main body is still there, you can't kill the shadow even if you scrape off the wall skin.'"

  He pointed to the surrounding embers gradually dimming, gaze solemn:

  "The strong light just now only made them temporarily 'Overexposed,' just like negative exposure. But they are conceptual creatures; as long as the light dims, these damn 'Data' will reorganize."

  Carlisle struggled to stand up, rushed into the ruins pile, picked up that military black box blown away but still sturdy (thanks to Second Epoch quality), then dragged up Savage still dazed on the ground.

  "Don't stand there stupidly! While the fire hasn't gone out, the shadows haven't returned, retreat quickly!"

  Savage glanced at those three puddles of black water, then at Carlisle, a true reverence appearing in his eyes for the first time: "You f*cking are a lunatic... crazier than me."

  "Val! Stop crying! Your shop is gone, you slippery guy, seeing how you cherish life, use your life-saving means quickly." Carlisle turned his head giving a threatening look.

  "Over... over there! Under the drain outlet!"

  The goblin merchant looked mournful, watching his shop turned into a sea of fire, heart bleeding. But he knew saving life was important now, rolling and crawling to rush toward a sewer manhole cover in the corner.

  "Go!"

  The four drilled into the dark damp sewer wretchedly.

  In the last second the manhole cover closed, Carlisle saw through the gap, at the edge of that burning sea of fire, those few puddles of black mucus were wriggling slowly, converging, condensing into human shapes again.

  They didn't die. But this had won them precious escape time.