The violent currents of the dimensional rift were like billions of invisible blades, continuously tearing at Mark Grayson's body, which was condensed from pure will and stellar energy.
Each impact was accompanied by a piercing shriek and violent ripples of energy.
He was like a burning comet, struggling through a bizarre, lawless dimensional storm.
The Ark had long since completely disintegrated into nothingness during the catastrophic spatial transfer that forcibly swallowed it into the pocket universe.
Mark Grayson was, in the true sense, traversing the void with his physical body.
He relied on the stellar core within him, which had reignited and undergone a qualitative change when breaking through the dimensional cage, for power, and navigated the chaotic dimensional labyrinth with his superhuman senses and spatial intuition.
His speed was extremely fast, far exceeding the limits of conventional starships, but this journey home was still long.
Excruciating pain and exhaustion clung to him like maggots to bone.
The ultimate punch that shattered the pocket universe had consumed most of his newfound power, and this current burning was an overdraft of his essence.
The blood-red scars on his body, left in the cage and then repaired by his new power, now glowed, and under the continuous erosion of the dimensional currents, they began to throb faintly, even seeping tiny beads of blood that were immediately vaporized by the violent energy.
His consciousness was highly concentrated, fully maintaining his course, with no time for anything else.
Communication?
That was already a luxury.
With the Ark destroyed, he had no equipment that could contact the Main Universe.
Even worse, the chaotic nature of the dimensional rift itself, and the interference of Taviel's residual will fragments on the spatial communication channels, made any form of hyperspace communication beam like a mud ox entering the sea.
He was like a lone brave individual lost in a thunderstorm, with only one coordinate in his heart: the Alliance Headquarters' Crown of Stars.
And a burning belief.
Stop the Great Old Ones!
He was completely unaware of the drastic changes occurring within the Alliance.
He only knew that the Great Old Ones were infiltrating, playing a grand game.
He had to return as soon as possible!
Every second of delay could cause the situation to slide into an irreversible abyss.
This urgency, like fuel, made him disregard his body's protests, continuously squeezing out power, tearing a faster path through the dimensional storm.
…
In the depths of dimensions imperceptible to mortals, Taviel's will-entity, composed of billions of doorways, for the first time exhibited violent, unstable fluctuations.
Countless phantom doorways wildly opened and closed, flickering, like a calm lake into which a stone had been thrown, stirring up monstrous waves!
"Impossible… the cage… was… broken?!"
Within the cold stream of will, a rare trace of incredulous astonishment was mixed.
The Son of the Sun, whom It had cast into absolute nothingness, isolated from energy, and worn down by endless killing machines, had actually broken free?
And in such a violent, such a thorough manner, directly shattering the dimensional structure of the pocket universe It had meticulously constructed!
It instantly retrieved the last records before the pocket universe's collapse.
That punch, which pierced through dimensions, that ultimate power wielded by the three figures—childhood, present, and twilight—condensing a pure will to protect, made Taviel feel threatened.
This power surpassed all Its previous deductions based on Mark Grayson's past performance!
This will was so tenacious that it exceeded Its understanding of mortals!
"Ysogtha… do you perceive… the tremor… of the sandbox?"
Taviel's will-stream, with a barely perceptible hint of urgency, transmitted towards the Great Abyss.
Ysogtha's vast, slowly rotating will also seemed to ripple slightly, carrying the irritation of being disturbed and a hint of novel greed.
"Tremor… perceived… an interesting power fluctuation… piercing through the toy… carrying a burning… life essence… Is that the offering that broke free from the cage?"
His voice was filled with destructive interest.
"His… core… seems… more delicious…"
"The offering broke free… not a feast…" Taviel's will became cold and urgent.
"This is a variable! The plan… must accelerate!"
"I will… deepen the imprint… awaken all dormant seeds… twist reality… amplify the fear and madness of the ants… let chaos… become Our… shield and nourishment!"
The wills of the two Great Old Ones instantly reached a consensus.
A more vile, more profound power, like an invisible tide, surged forth from the abyssal plane, following the previously anchored coordinates, rushing more violently towards the Main Universe, towards those souls already deeply corrupted!
Alliance Main Star Region, New Hope City Central Plaza.
On the huge holographic projection, shocking images were being broadcast.
Burning streets, frenzied crowds tearing at each other, smashed public facilities, and the ubiquitous, twisted doorway patterns spray-painted on walls!
Trigg stood on the high platform, his deep purple eyes sweeping over the urgently summoned media and some emotionally stable citizens below.
Beside him stood Chairman Warren, his eyes fanatical and glazed.
Trigg's voice, amplified, echoed across the plaza, cold, authoritative, and with an undeniable tone of judgment.
"Citizens of the Alliance, look at these images! This is a blatant terrorist attack, a mad destruction of our hard-won peace and order!"
He pointed a finger at the frenzied crowds on the projection, his voice suddenly rising.
"And the mastermind behind all of this is none other than Mark Grayson and his remnants, who are unwilling to accept defeat and attempt to subvert the Alliance!"
The crowd erupted!
Shock, fear, and anger began to spread.
"We have irrefutable evidence!"
Chairman Warren took over, his voice trembling slightly with excitement, an abnormal purple glow flickering in his eyes.
"After meticulous investigation, the PRCC Security Department discovered that Mark's Faction remnants, including Allen, Eve, and Rudy, used their marginalized status as a cover to secretly collude with destructive elements in the lower society, spreading rumors and inciting opposition for a long time!"
"They secretly developed and deployed illegal mind-control devices, and it is these evil devices that led to the mental breakdowns and violent behavior of innocent citizens!"
"They even tried to sabotage the crucial Abyss Stone supply network, hindering our progress in rebuilding our homes!"
"Their goal is to create chaos, subvert the Alliance, and welcome their equally dangerous leader, Mark Grayson, who is lost in the universe!"
The projection screen switched at the opportune moment.
Several blurry surveillance screenshots, purportedly showing Allen secretly meeting with "lower-level resistance fighters."
Several fragments of circuit boards, bearing Mark's Faction's old emblem, "discovered" at the riot scene, were "identified" by PRCC experts as core components of mind-control devices.
An edited clip of Rudy complaining about Abyss Stones in a technical forum was taken out of context and interpreted as a declaration of deliberate sabotage of the Alliance's critical strategic resources.
There was even a "repentant" "former Mark's Faction member," weeping as he accused Allen and others of using "evil psionic powers" to control him into destructive activities.
"Framing! Naked framing!"
In the dilapidated office on E73, Rudy slammed his fist on the table, the old monitor shook, and Warren's distorted face on the screen looked even more detestable.
They watched the live broadcast from the plaza through an old terminal barely connected to the public network.
Allen's face was ashen, cold rage burning in his eyes; he knew better than anyone how clumsy and ridiculous these "evidences" were.
But under Trigg and others' absolute control of public opinion, and the public's perception dulled by fear and purple stabilizers, lies became truth!
Karl's disappearance, like a stone thrown into a deep pool, failed to stir even a ripple, and instead became corroboration of their guilty conscience!
Eve closed her eyes tightly, her hands clenched, knuckles white.
She could clearly hear the deliberately guided fanaticism, the waves of fear and hatred emanating from the plaza, impacting her senses like tangible psychic pollution.
What chilled her even more was that she vaguely caught the non-human, cold will emanating from Warren and others, and Trigg's soul fluctuations, which seemed to control everything but were actually enveloped by a deeper darkness.
The power of the Great Old Ones was wantonly twisting reality and manipulating human hearts.
"We… are truly like rats in the street now…"
A young faction member's voice trembled, filled with despair.
Persecution, like a raging storm, swept in.
PRCC military police completely sealed all entrances and exits to E73, cutting off all unofficial networks and supply channels.
The office became a de facto prison.
Official media broadcast accusations and "evidence" against Mark's Faction 24/7, portraying them as the Alliance's cancer, destroyers of peace, and accomplices of the Great Old Ones' shadow.
The former admiration and sympathy for Mark Grayson, under the overwhelming smear campaign, quickly transformed into public hatred and fear.
Slogans like "Hang the traitors" and "Eliminate the cancer" began to appear in the streets.
Anyone with public or private contact with Mark's Faction members would immediately be listed by the PRCC as a potential threat; at best, they would lose their jobs, at worst, they would mysteriously disappear.
The underground resistance network that had once tried to contact them instantly fell silent, sinking into deeper despair and suspicion.
Any of Allen's attempts to explain, appeal, or contact the still-sane elders were roughly rejected by the PRCC on the grounds of prohibiting contact with the outside world during the investigation.
Eve's psionic perception was severely suppressed by the interference field, emitting a faint purple light, set up outside the office, making it difficult to effectively detect external conditions.
Rudy attempted to send encrypted messages using old equipment, but the signals were invariably intercepted, leading to even stricter warnings.
They were completely isolated, demonized, and imprisoned in a corner of this steel tomb.
The hatred from the outside world was like a tangible wall, trapping them, resources were increasingly scarce, and even food and water began to be rationed.
An atmosphere of despair spread among the less than a hundred remaining members; some were silent, some wept softly, some's eyes began to become hollow and numb.
Allen stood by the window; outside was still a cold metal wall, watching the small figures in the city below, incited by holographic projections, shouting slogans, his fists clenched.
There was no fear in his heart, only cold anger and endless worry; anger at the despicable nature of the Great Old Ones' pawns, worry about Mark Grayson's long period of being out of contact, and even more worry about the speed at which the entire Alliance was sliding into destruction in its madness.
"Mark Grayson… where on earth are you?"
Allen murmured, his voice sounding particularly heavy in the dead silence of the office.
"If you're still alive… please hurry… hurry back."
He didn't know that Mark Grayson was on his way home, traversing the dimensional storm, nor did he know that a storm, ignited by him, tearing through the darkness, was rushing at full speed towards this insane starfield, carrying the Great Old Ones' shock and anger and the truth of the Alliance's downfall!
Time had become the cruelest countdown.
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