The standard classification protocols of Earth's military intelligence designated the Black Gates as terminal pocket rifts—isolated, parasitic dimensions that collapsed once their central cores were extracted. However, as Markus calibrated the structural resonance of the newly conquered Level 79 nexus, his 100% Space Mastery detected a profound anomaly in the spatial architecture.
This specific gate did not terminate in a void. It was a bidirectional cosmic conduit.
The underlying leylines did not curve backward; they punched straight through the inter-dimensional substrate, forming a permanent, high-density bridge linking Earth's restricted zones directly to an uncharted coordinate plane within the Primordial Universe.
"This isn't a mere extraction site," Markus stated, his silver-blue eyes reflecting the deep, swirling violet-gold matrix of the gate's stabilized core. "This is a backdoor pipeline. The entity manufacturing the Wrath corruption has been using this exact coordinate to siphon energy from the Primordial Universe to fuel the rifts on Earth."
Sloane Blackwell adjusted the heavy gauntlets of his imperial armor, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, calculated heat. "Then we are no longer playing defense on our own soil. If this door leads back to the origin world, we cross over. We inspect the staging grounds of the enemy."
Isolde stood beside them, her slender rapier resting against her white-gold sash as she evaluated the atmospheric reading shifting through the portal. "For centuries, our house has fought the symptoms of this blight. Let us look upon the disease itself."
[SYSTEM CORE: TRANS-DIMENSIONAL BRIDGE CALIBRATION]
>> Portal Type: Unstable Inter-Universe Conduit
>> Destination: Primordial Universe [Sector Unknown]
>> Spatial Synchronization Index: 100% [LOCKED]
>> Temporal Variance: Δt = 0.000s (Synchronized Chrono-Flow)
With Markus acting as the living spatial anchor, the three Blackwells stepped forward in a tight, synchronized vanguard, vanishing directly into the white-hot event horizon of the stabilized bridge.
The transition was instantaneous and violent.
When their boots touched solid ground, they were no longer surrounded by the grey, ash-choked basalt of Earth's rifts. They stood on a colossal, jagged precipice overlooking an endless, twilight-draped wilderness. The ambient gravity was immediately five times heavier than Earth's baseline, and the air was hyper-saturated with raw, unrefined primordial energy.
But it was not the pristine beauty of Aethelgard. This was an entirely different, untamed sector of the Primordial Universe—and it was utterly choked by the rot.
[TACTICAL TELEMETRY: UNCHARTED PRIMORDIAL SECTOR]
>> Ambient Primordial Density: 450% [EXTREME]
>> Corruption Saturation: 74.2% (Deep Core Fusion Spectrum)
>> Local Flora/Fauna Status: Hostile / Systemic Mutation
Looking down from the precipice, the three Blackwells mapped a terrifying ecological landscape.
Millions of titanic, prehistoric trees—similar to the willow patient zero Markus had excised from the city's aquifers—stretched across the horizon, their roots visibly pulsing with liquid matte-black corruption as they pumped poison into the continent's deeper leylines.
Massive, crystalline mountains had been hollowed out, transformed into organic breeding factories where thousands of Tier 7 and Tier 8 extra-dimensional entities were being incubated inside glowing, crimson sacks of Wrath energy.
The literal sky of this sector was torn open in hundreds of minor jagged tears—the infancy stages of the very Black Gates that would eventually manifest on Earth and around the outskirts of Aethelgard.
"It is an industrial-scale invasion network," Sloane murmured, his voice laced with an explosive, suppressed fury as he watched a flock of massive, corrupted Wyverns soar through the toxic violet clouds below. "They aren't just attacking our worlds. They have converted an entire sector of the Primordial Universe into a military shipyard."
"The scale of the variable is vast," Markus noted calmly, his features remaining an unyielding mask of flawless stone as his tracking interface logged the geographical coordinates. "But the rules remains the same. If it possesses a structural core, it can be deleted."
Standing on the obsidian precipice of the uncharted primordial sector, Markus closed his silver-blue eyes. The absolute mastery he possessed over the laws of space expanded outward from his body, morphing into a silent, high-frequency telemetry wave that ripped through the hyper-dense atmosphere at the speed of thought. He was searching for the unique, gold-flecked vital signatures of Rosanne, Mika, Jessica, and Donna, whose tracking rings were directly tethered to his central system core.
Ten seconds passed. Then thirty.
The spatial ping traveled through thousands of kilometers of toxic black-ink forests, bypassed fractured sky-grids, and cut across jagged mountain ranges. Yet, the tracking ledger remained completely blank. There was no return bounce, no mechanical feedback, and zero spatial resonance.
The four girls were completely unreachable.
Markus opened his eyes, their silver-blue depths shifting into a cold, calculating lattice as his internal interface began to process the failure. The breakdown was not a result of localized jamming or a structural malfunction within the tracking rings; the reality was far more stark.
The exit vector of the Earthside Level 79 Black Gate had dropped them into an entirely separated, isolated quadrant of the Primordial Universe. The sheer scale of this universe was structurally infinite, and the distance between this corrupted staging ground and the civilized commercial rings of Aethelgard was astronomically vast.
The spawn location from the Earthside Black Gate was simply too far from the localized portal they had originally utilized to enter Aethelgard. They were on the same cosmic plane, but separated by oceans of untamed wilderness and uncharted high-tier territories that even the high kings of the capital had failed to map over the past three thousand years.
Behind him, Sloane Blackwell leaned against his massive, fire-veined broadsword, his gaze scanning the infinite horizon of corrupted hive spires. He noticed the slight, geometric hardening of Markus's posture.
"No contact?" Sloane asked, his deep voice carrying the dense, rhythmic weight of a veteran commander.
"The signal cannot anchor," Markus replied flatly, his voice slicing through the heavy, toxic wind of the precipice. "The girls are secure within the Sovereign Nexus Institute, but our current coordinates are positioned deep within the outer primordial rim. We are separated from the city by multiple continental plates."
Isolde stepped to the edge, her white-gold sash fluttering as her ice-blue eyes evaluated the dark space. "This confirms the adversary's strategic logic. They didn't plant the Wrath tree near Aethelgard by using a local transit network. They tunneled directly from this remote blind spot, bypassing the city's defensive perimeters entirely via subterranean spatial bleeding."