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Inside the Supreme Vault.

The air stopped moving, as though quick-drying cement had been poured into it.

Turing's index finger pressed against the trigger so hard that its knuckles had gone deathly white.

A bead of cold sweat slid down his temple. Before it could hit the floor, the warped higher-dimensional force field around him evaporated it into a wisp of white smoke.

The twelve High Gods behind him stood frozen, leaning forward as if invisible steel wires had tightened around their throats.

The Great Chieftain's eyes bulged a third of the way out of their sockets. His pupils shrank to pinpricks as he stared at the Prehistoric Sniper Rifle, which looked like a fire poker.

No one blinked.

Even the half a Stellar Core used for lighting had stopped fusing. Its light hung motionless in the air.

"Die, freak."

Turing bared his gums in a vicious grin.

His finger pulled the trigger.

Click.

A faint mechanical sound.

No earth-shattering explosion.

No deafening roar.

Not even a flicker from the ghostly blue light pulsing at the muzzle.

It was like a child had pointed a toy plastic gun with no batteries at the sky and pulled the trigger.

"A dud?"

The Great Chieftain froze. His bristling mane had only just begun to relax.

He opened his mouth, ready to mock Turing for buying a cheap knockoff.

The next second.

Everyone's mouth snapped shut.

A dry, rattling sound came from their throats.

The terrifying mass of Origin in the chamber—enough to destroy a dozen star systems—had vanished into thin air.

It had not been spent.

It had been "eaten."

Then.

The space before Turing looked like a pencil drawing someone had rubbed out with an eraser.

A straight line of absolute nonexistence appeared.

Along that line, dust vanished. Light vanished. Laws