The sound of Marcus Thorne's neck snapping was a dry, hollow crack that echoed louder than any explosion in the silent bunker. Fang Yuan didn't use a weapon; he simply phased his dark-matter hand through Marcus's throat and solidified it.
As the "Political Prophet" fell, the indigo-gold threads didn't dissipate into the air. Instead, they writhed like agitated vipers, sensing the sudden absence of their host. Before Ethan Vance could even scream, the threads lashed out, piercing Fang Yuan's chest and weaving themselves directly into his fractured Star-Core.
"Master!" Lia's voice shrieked through the bunker's speakers, distorted by a sudden surge of golden static.
Fang Yuan's body arched back, his violet eyes forced wide as the Golden Logic of the Rank 4 Sovereign flooded his neural pathways. He wasn't being destroyed; he was being claimed.
«...You have devoured the puppet, little Weaver...» the voice from the Golden Ocean vibrated through his very DNA. «...Now, you shall be the instrument. Your 'Abyssal Logic' is a fine blade. I shall use it to carve this galaxy into my image...»
Fang Yuan's skin began to glow with an unstable, gilded radiance. He felt his power surging back—his Rank 2: Silicon-Weaver status was being forcibly evolved toward Rank 3, but it wasn't a natural growth. It was an Infection of Sovereignty.
"You... think... you can... own... me?" Fang Yuan gasped, his voice a mixture of human grit and celestial feedback.
He looked at Ethan Vance, who was frozen in terror, clutching the Anti-Mana canister.
"Ethan!" Fang Yuan roared, his silhouette flickering between indigo and gold. "Do not give me the canister to save me! Use it to poison the link! Inject the Anti-Mana into me while the threads are connected! We will send the toxin back up the line... into the Golden Ocean!"
It was a suicidal gambit. To poison a Rank 4 entity, Fang Yuan had to become the needle—and he might not survive the flow.