The silence in Sector C-12 was unnatural, a heavy shroud of grey dust and ozone. Xarax stood before Fang Yuan, his yellow eyes filled with a lethal mixture of suspicion and greed. He had seen the "Void-Sentinels" delete matter, and he knew that such power would either elevate him in the eyes of the Abyssal Overlord or lead to his execution if he failed to control it.
"Stay here, Pilgrim," Xarax hissed, his translucent body flickering as he prepared to phase back into the shadows. "I must report this 'efficiency' to the Spire. Do not move a single thread."
But as Xarax turned, a sudden vibration rippled through the obsidian floor—not a tremor of rock, but a precise, harmonic frequency. A sequence that only a Weaver would recognize.
From behind a massive, half-collapsed pillar of raw obsidian, a figure emerged. He was small, his back hunched under a cloak of shimmering silver rags that seemed to repel the acidic soot of the mine. His skin was pale, etched with glowing white runes that flickered like dying stars.
"A report... is a death sentence for us all, Demon," the stranger spoke. His voice didn't travel through the air; it was a telepathic broadcast that vibrated directly against Fang Yuan's indigo threads.
Xarax spun around, his claws extending. "A survivor? A filthy Weaver from the Great Collapse? You should have been soul-fuel centuries ago!"
The old man ignored Xarax. He looked directly at Fang Yuan, his eyes milky white but brimming with ancient intelligence. "I am Eron, formerly a Rank 3: Galactic Overlord of a system your kind wouldn't even remember. Now, I am just a scavenger in the dark."
Eron raised a withered hand, and for a split second, the acidic mana in the room froze. He wasn't using strength; he was using the Secret of Law to exploit a loophole in the mine's environment.
"You," Eron said to Fang Yuan, "You have the scent of the Void and the cunning of a predator. You didn't come here to serve the Abyss. You came to devour it from the inside."
Xarax roared, lunging at the old man, but Fang Yuan's indigo threads—now blackened by the demonic rot—snapped out like whips, pinning the Demon Stalker to the wall.
"Listen to him, Stalker," Fang Yuan said, his voice a cold, demonic rasp. "Or my Sentinels will find out what color your soul is."
Eron leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a frequency only a Weaver could hear. "The Abyssal Overlord hides a Star-Core in the deepest vein of this mine—a source of pure negative mass. If you help me reach it, I will teach you the forbidden sequence to bridge the gap between Rank 2 and Rank 3 without the Overlord ever noticing your ascension. We can dethrone him together."
Fang Yuan looked at the old, broken Weaver. A fallen Rank 3 was a fountain of forbidden knowledge, but also a dangerous variable. In the world of the Abyss, an alliance was just another thread waiting to be cut.