[Scene 1: The Invasion of Absolute Linearity]

  Thud!

  The sound was not dull; rather, it was sharp, like a diamond probe piercing into glass, triggering a sour resonance deep within the skull.

  Above the dome of the underground hall, the "Infinite Mirror Fold"—an invisible spatial structure Carlyle had carefully woven using chaos algorithms—suddenly developed a straight rift glowing with blinding gold.

  The space, originally designed to hide its coordinates through countless refractions, now looked like a prism struck by a heavy hammer. That golden rift ignored the deception of light and shadow, ignored the logic of infinite recursion. Like a red-hot table knife slicing through layers of phantom images, it was absolutely straight.

  "Is he... correcting the coordinates?"

  Carlyle stood before the control console, his hands gripping the edge tightly until his knuckles turned white. His left eye twitched madly, and a chaotic red alarm exploded within the [Sight of Truth] on his retina:

  [Warning: High-Order Law Overwrite Detected] [Target is enforcing: Euclidean Axiom] [Logic Conflict: Recursive Mirrors are being forced to 'Nullify'... Space Collapse Rate 75%...]

  "It’s not just a correction." Carlyle gritted his teeth, cold sweat sliding down his temples. "He doesn’t need to find us inside countless mirrors. He shattered the mirror directly. He intends to forcibly 'flatten' the folded space!"

  "That’s unreasonable!" Savage clutched his bleeding mechanical stump. He watched as the defensive layers overhead, originally precise as a kaleidoscope, peeled away layer by layer. His face was pale. "Thousands of layers of spatial folding... how could they be pierced in one strike?!"

  "To a [Lord of Laws], physical constants are merely drafts that can be scribbled over at will."

  Before Carlyle’s voice had faded—

  Crack—Crash!

  With a crisp, thunderous sound like the breaking of the world's spine, the mirrored barrier of the dome shattered completely.

  There was no roar of armies, no thunder of warships. Only infinite golden brilliance poured down like a waterfall, instantly illuminating the dim, filthy underground hall.

  Amidst that brilliance, a figure floated in mid-air, white robes flapping, completely unstained by dust.

  Alastor "Star-Flame."

  He held a heavy brass codex in one hand and stepped down a staircase composed of pure light elements. The air around him seemed filtered by some force field; not even a speck of dust could approach the hem of his pristine robes.

  Where he walked, chaotic air currents smoothed out, and twisted light rays straightened.

  He was, in himself, a walking "Absolute Order."

  "Naughty rats."

  His voice echoed in the hall, carrying a holy reverberation, as elegant as if he were attending a banquet rather than a massacre.

  "I told you, you cannot escape."

  [Scene 2: The Desperate Gap]

  "Do it! Don't let him land!"

  Carlyle let out a roar and slammed the thrust lever on the console to the bottom.

  [Chaos Engine: Output 20%] [Defense Protocol: Axiom Guards — Activated]

  Hum—

  On both sides of the hall, geometric titan statues that had slept for ten thousand years suddenly vibrated. The two giants closest to the gate, possessing "Inverted Pyramid Skulls," instantly lit up with ghostly blue circuits on their surfaces. Ancient hydraulic systems let out a roar like thunder.

  Creak—Boom!

  Accompanied by the loud sound of cracking rock, the two giants slowly raised their arms. They held no weapons; their palms themselves were massive gravity generators.

  Two visible gravity waves, carrying ripples that distorted the air, slammed viciously toward Alastor in the air. This was equivalent to two mountains smashing down at supersonic speed simultaneously.

  "Oh? Relics of the Second Era?"

  Alastor stopped. A hint of surprise flashed in his golden eyes, but it was mostly the interest of appreciating an antique, and a trace of... pity.

  "A pity. They are rusted."

  He extended his left hand, gloved in white, and gently clenched it against the void.

  [Edict: Stasis]

  There was no earth-shattering collision.

  Those two gravity waves, strong enough to pulverize city walls, suddenly solidified five meters away from him. Like insects frozen in amber, even the shape of the ripples was clearly visible.

  Immediately after, Alastor flicked his finger gently.

  Pop!

  The arms of the two giants exploded without warning. They were not shattered by external force, but their internal atomic structures were instantly dissociated, turning into sky-filling grey-white powder that fell like snowflakes.

  "Mother of..." Savage sat paralyzed on the ground, dumbfounded, the light in his eyes dimming. "That was a mixture of Black-Star Steel and Basalt... He didn't even lift a hand..."

  "The level gap is too vast." Lyria clutched her chest. She could feel the magic power on him, cold and dead as an abyss. "He is Level 5. Within this range, his words are reality, and we are merely incorrect punctuation marks."

  [Scene 3: The Unequal Negotiation]

  Alastor did not pursue immediately. Like an elegant noble, he slowly descended onto the obsidian bridge, less than fifty meters from the trio.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  He looked around, his gaze sweeping over the flickering purple-gold circuits, finally landing on the Chaos Engine that emitted a bizarre glow.

  True disgust appeared in his eyes.

  "You didn't just repair it. You polluted it."

  Alastor looked at Carlyle and shook his head.

  "You treat 'Chaos' as fuel... turning sacred order into a devouring monster. This is a blasphemy against truth, like pouring magma into a precise clock."

  "But this magma can burn you to death."

  Carlyle stood before the console, drenched in cold sweat, yet his spine remained straight. He was calculating madly.

  Physical attacks: ineffective. Gravity suppression: ineffective. Conventional magic: ineffective.

  In front of this "Mage of Laws," all attack methods would be "Vetoed" by a single sentence from him.

  Carlyle's only chip was the extremely unstable "Big Bomb" behind him.

  "You want the fragment?" Carlyle pressed his hand on the engine's overload switch, his fingertips white from the pressure. "It has already melted inside. If you want to take it, you have to dismantle this furnace. But with a single thought from me, it will trigger an Aether Storm covering a ten-kilometer radius."

  "Are you threatening me?" Alastor smiled, a smile containing a trace of contempt. "Threatening a Preserver of Order with mutual destruction? Do you think I fear death like those gangsters in the sewers?"

  "No, I am negotiating costs with you."

  Carlyle's left eye flickered wildly. He was gambling. Gambling that this cleanliness freak wouldn't want to dirty his hands, gambling that this perfectionist couldn't tolerate the pollution of "Disorder."

  "The engine is currently in a 'Critical Chaos State.' It contains not only anti-matter but is also fused with the 'Divine Residue' of the Fifth Era. If you forcibly dismantle it, the overflowing 'Dirty Data' will instantly pollute your soul circuits."

  Carlyle's voice was low, carrying a desperate temptation:

  "You certainly can kill me, and even flatten this place. But you will change from a noble 'Star-Flame' into a fallen one eroded by chaos. Your order will no longer be pure; your truth will be covered in dust."

  "Think about it, Alastor. To catch a few rats, is it worth getting covered in filth, or even ruining your path of truth? Does that fit your aesthetics?"

  [Scene 4: The Arrogance of Purification]

  The smile on Alastor's face vanished.

  He silently stared at the power furnace emitting purple-black light. As a believer in pure order, what he dreaded most was not the strength of power, but the contamination of attributes. That chaotic, sticky, illogical chaos energy was like a toxic radioactive source to him.

  "You are very clever, child. You grasped my weakness—or rather, what you assume to be my weakness."

  Alastor sighed and reopened the codex in his hand. The pages turned, making a crisp sound.

  "But I do not need to dismantle it. I only need to purify it."

  Hum—

  Countless golden characters flew out from the book in his hand, forming a massive purification array in the air, complex enough to dazzle the eyes. The array rotated slowly, pressing down toward the power furnace with a crushing pressure.

  "I will rewrite the underlying protocols here. Return chaos to order, return filth to nothingness."

  Alastor's voice was like a judgment, allowing no doubt:

  "As for you... become the cornerstones of this new sanctuary within the light of purification."

  "He wants to forcibly format the engine!" Carlyle roared. He could feel the console losing response; that golden array was forcibly overwriting the engine's code. "Lyria! Savage! Quick! Help me!"

  "I... I'm out of mana!" Lyria cried out in despair, her nature power firmly suppressed.

  "My arm is broken!" Savage collapsed on the ground, looking at the sky in hopelessness.

  This was reality. No miracles, no outbursts. Before absolute power, they were just a group of broken soldiers.

  Carlyle watched the approaching golden array, the light stinging his eyes.

  If he didn't do something, everything would end. Not just their lives, but their philosophy.

  A trace of madness flashed in his eyes. Since you want purity, I will give you ultimate filth.

  "Then let's get dirty together!"

  He plunged his mental force into the engine's core again, but this time not to control, but to "Excrete."

  [Overwrite Command: Waste Vents Fully Open] [Target: Forward Fan-Shaped Area] [Discharge: High-Concentration Arcane Slag / Logic Virus / Abyssal Silt]

  Boom——!

  Beneath the power furnace, the industrial waste vent that had been sealed for hundreds of millions of years suddenly burst open.

  It had accumulated thousands of years of industrial waste from the Second Era, the residue left after devouring monsters just now, and the "indigestible high-dimensional data garbage" produced by the Chaos Engine's operation.

  At this moment, under immense pressure, they spewed out.

  It was a stream of black "Filth-Flow," viscous as petroleum. Carrying temperatures of several hundred degrees, a nauseating stench of rot, and chaotic logic enough to drive any mage insane, it sprayed fiercely like a high-pressure water cannon toward that spotless white figure.

  [Scene 5: A Dignified Retreat]

  Facing this oncoming "fecal water," a look of horror finally appeared on Alastor's flawless face.

  It was a fear more intense than facing a forbidden curse. It was a physiological rejection carved into his bones.

  "Madman!!"

  He screamed, losing his composure for the first time, his originally elegant casting movements instantly deforming.

  Sizzle—

  The black sludge slammed into the golden purification array, making a sound like meat frying in oil. Those golden runes representing absolute order instantly turned dim and twisted upon contact with this "Dirty Data," even beginning to self-collapse like they were infected by a virus.

  Just a millisecond before the stream of filth could stain his white robe.

  Flash!

  A golden light flashed.

  Alastor abandoned the nearly completed purification spell and activated teleportation.

  He retreated directly to the high sky hundreds of meters away, keeping far away from that filth.

  "You... How dare you..."

  Floating in the air, Alastor looked down at the mess below. The obsidian bridge where he had stood was corroded into a large pit by the black sludge, and the air was filled with a stench strong enough to suffocate a dragon.

  His face was iron-blue. He had the power to kill all three of them, but he could not tolerate fighting in an environment filled with "shit, piss, and farts."

  "Carlyle Frost."

  Alastor's voice came from high above, no longer elegant, but filled with cold, gnashing killing intent:

  "You won. This place is too dirty; it is not worth soiling my shoes."

  "But remember. This turtle shell cannot protect you forever. Black Tooth City is my jurisdiction."

  He waved his hand, and the golden teleportation pillar lit up again, enveloping his figure:

  "I will blockade this place. Cut off your water source, food, and supplies. I will turn this city into a prison."

  "Let's see how long you can hide in this cesspit."

  [Scene 6: The Throne on the Wasteland]

  As the pillar of light vanished, the underground hall returned to calm.

  Only now, the air carried a nauseating burnt smell, and black slime flowed on the ground. Those pieces of "Dirty Data" not only corroded the floor but even left some kind of persistent static noise in the air.

  "He's gone..."

  Savage sat on the ground, gasping for breath. He looked at the filth all over the floor, then at Carlyle, and suddenly burst into dry laughter:

  "Haha... Did we... did we scare that pervert away?"

  "We disgusted him away."

  Carlyle leaned exhaustedly against the console, smiling helplessly. A line of bloody tears flowed from his overloaded left eye, dripping onto the operation table.

  "We used the most undignified method to win a most dignified victory."

  Lyria covered her nose, looking at the black filth streams, her brows knitted tight, but her eyes held the relief of survival: "We won, but we made our doorstep even dirtier."

  "Better than being dead."

  Carlyle forced himself to stand straight, his gaze passing through the hole in the dome cut by Alastor, looking at the grey sky.

  That crack was like a scar, reminding them of the divine power they had just faced.

  "He was right. We are trapped."

  Carlyle whispered. No supplies, no allies. Savage lost an arm, Lyria exhausted her mana, and he was at his limit. Outside were layers of blockading armies.

  "So what do we do?" Savage asked, a hint of confusion in his voice. "Wait for death?"

  "No."

  Carlyle turned around.

  He looked at the Chaos Engine behind him, which was running smoothly and emitting purple-golden light. The purple light reflected on his face, dyeing half of it like a ghost, yet also like a king.

  "We have energy, we have technology, we have everything here."

  He clenched his fist. In that newly acquired black pupil engraved with precise geometric patterns, a light named "Ambition" flickered:

  "Since they blockaded us, we will make this a place they have to beg to enter."

  "We are going to survive, and not just survive..."

  Carlyle's voice echoed in the empty hall, carrying a ruthlessness that had crawled out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood:

  "We will make this place the only throne in the wasteland."