The Mechanicus—once mocked as zealots of the Machine God—now displayed a level of destruction that even veteran cultivators could not ignore.
Heavy artillery roared without restraint.
Missiles streaked through the ruined skyline.
Laser grids carved entire streets into molten trenches.
To them, ammunition truly was expendable.
Unlike independent cultivators who risked their lives mining the Cyber Dimension for fragments of technology, the Mechanicus were authorized users. They did not need to gamble in corrupted sectors or fend off Cyber Demons for scraps of inheritance.
They completed missions.
They earned contribution points.
They exchanged them for technology.
And much of their internal research was open-source.
Shared blueprints. Collective iteration. Distributed refinement.
Unless a once-in-a-generation genius emerged among the cultivators, collaborative development would always outpace isolated brilliance.
But even within the Cyberpunk world, the strongest were not ordinary Mechanicus priests.
They were the first three who had received the Dimension Chips.
Rogue.
Yorinobu.
Adam Hammer.
The earliest chips granted far deeper control over Cyber Aura.
They did not need prayer rites.
They did not need to expand coverage or awaken machine spirits.
With a thought, they could devour surrounding cyberware and reconfigure their bodies in real time.
Among them, Yorinobu stood at the peak.
Adam Hammer followed close behind.
Rogue ranked third.
Rogue chose speed.
Militech Apogee-level Sandevistan.
Silver-plated Mantis Blades.
On the battlefield she was a phantom.
Before vampires even registered her presence, silver arcs flashed—and heads fell.
Adam Hammer, by contrast, was overwhelming force.
A multi-functional operating system—Sandevistan and Berserk combined.
Heavy weapon augmentations layered across his frame.
He had even installed a Scorpion Heavy Cannon and full ACPA armor.
When he charged, he resembled a steel tank propelled by jets.
Anyone struck died.
Anyone grazed was crippled.
But the most terrifying was Arasaka Yorinobu.
He looked refined.
Scholar's glasses.
Immaculate suit.
A calm executive rather than a warlord.
Yet he was the culmination of Arasaka's technological zenith.
His body housed layers upon layers of proprietary systems.
Though only at the Golden Core stage, his output eclipsed ordinary Golden Core cultivators by orders of magnitude.
He did not rush.
He floated.
One hand behind his back, drifting forward at a leisurely pace.
With the other, he pointed lightly at a fleeing vampire.
Space distorted.
A heartbeat later—
The vampire collapsed into a slurry of flesh.
The ground beneath him sank into a smooth, circular depression.
Gravity had folded inward.
When faced with a cluster of enemies, Yorinobu merely gestured.
An entire section of ruined street compressed.
Buildings imploded.
Dozens of vampires flattened simultaneously.
Effortless.
Clinical.
Like swatting insects.
A higher-ranked vampire barely avoided being crushed, tumbling across broken stone.
He glared upward.
"What… are you?"
Yorinobu adjusted his glasses.
"You wouldn't understand," he replied evenly. "But since you asked—gravity field manipulation technology."
The vampire blinked.
Did not understand.
Roared instead.
He charged with a massive blood-infused axe.
Yorinobu sighed.
Two fingers rose calmly before him.
Air warped.
An invisible barrier formed.
The axe stopped a finger's breadth away.
No matter how the vampire strained, that final inch was uncrossable.
Yorinobu clicked his tongue softly.
"Primitive."
The fusion reactor embedded in his core brightened.
Output multiplied.
A shockwave detonated outward.
The vampire was hurled back, bones snapping mid-flight.
Yorinobu descended slowly, hands returning to his pockets.
The vampire's regeneration kicked in—bones resetting, flesh knitting.
Impressive.
Before he could rise—
Gravity fell like a mountain.
The vampire was pinned flat against the earth, unable to twitch.
Yorinobu approached, gaze curious rather than hostile.
"I do have questions," he said mildly. "You're clearly not native to this system."
He looked across the battlefield—cultivators, Mechanicus priests, cyber-enhanced elites.
And beyond that—
A foreign ecology.
A different cosmology.
It truly felt like another world had collided with theirs.
He studied the suppressed vampire thoughtfully.
"Tell me," He continued, voice calm, almost conversational, "where exactly did you come from?"
Above them, the slaughter continued.
And for the vampires—
There was no turning the tide.
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