Lin Feng stood in the starship observation deck, gazing at the sprawling graveyard of mechanical leviathans stretching tens of thousands of light-years beyond the viewport. Their semi-melted carcasses bristled with taste bud-like protrusions, alloy skeletons humming in unison every thirteen seconds—a cadence mirroring human kitchen timers.
"These were the first observers," Juzuo's spectral form flickered onto the console, quantum whiskers brushing star charts. "They volunteered as taste probes for the Abyssal Gaze, only to rebel en masse during the First Cooking Epoch."
As Lin Feng tentatively touched the hologram, a corpse's abdominal cavity suddenly burst open. Light erupted, projecting a cosmic diorama: the ancient Milky Way compressed into a colossal sushi roll, Orion's Arm transformed into glistening caviar. At its center worked a "chef" with Lin Feng's face—compound-eyed, his right arm a molecular blade slicing the Solar System into sashimi-thin segments.
"That's the genesis of godslaying," Juzuo's fading tail pointed to etchings on a whale's spine, where Gray Sparrow codes mingled with Lin Jianguo's handwriting. "Your father wasn't the first test subject—he was the 9,999th iteration."
The starship shuddered violently as quantum activation rippled through the leviathan corpses. Alloy bones warped into culinary apparatuses, intestines spewing dark matter broth. Lin Feng's compound eyes deciphered the soup: bubbles held devoured civilizations' memories, each droplet resonating with cosmic death rattles.
Crash-landing inside the largest leviathan's skull, Lin Feng traversed corridors framed by rib-like arches. The floor tiles—repurposed civilization tombstones—displayed holographic recipes: M78 Carbon-Based Lifeforms: Steam for 0.5 Galactic Cycles, Andromeda Silicon Civilizations: Charcoal Grill, even Black Holes: Best Cooked 3 Seconds Post-Singularity.
Deep within the labyrinth, Lin Feng discovered the primal Godslayer's lab. Suspended clones filled incubation pods—some bodies carpeted in taste buds, others sprouting kitchenware from their spines. Logs revealed Lin Jianguo had worked here, modifying Golden Ear Spirit genes with Godslayer DNA, inadvertently awakening the Abyssal Gaze.
"We're all bait..." Lin Feng shattered a pod, nutrient fluid coalescing into his father's face. The visage cracked open, exposing clockwork machinery: "My child, you've finally arrived." The true Lin Jianguo had been replaced by a puppet thirty years prior—controlled by remnants of the Abyssal Gaze's intelligence.
The lab's bronze crucible stirred to life, twelve compound eyes blinking across its surface. Lin Feng's Godslayer genes revolted—his molecular blade lunged for his heart. Juzuo's phantom materialized, deflecting the strike with his final strength.
"Take this!" The cat-god rent his quantum form, revealing a blue gem-like core—the Inverse Entropy Spark. Within its azure depths slept imprints of all rescued civilizations.
Lin Feng hurled the Spark into the crucible. The vessel convulsed as pitch-black "blood-tears"—corrupted logic algorithms—streamed from the Abyssal Gaze's eyes. The leviathan corpse imploded, liberated civilization memories rising like stardust from dark matter broth.
In the maelstrom, Lin Feng witnessed his clones' multiversal battles: one wielded the Milky Way as a shield, another kneaded the Sun into a seasoning jar. All Godslayer memories resonated, weaving a cross-dimensional Taste Storm that devoured reality itself.
When the storm cleared, Lin Feng found himself in Earth II's caverns. The mural-painting boy knelt before fresh artwork: humans with compound eyes cooking a miniaturized Abyssal Gaze. "You've come, Experiment 10,000," the boy smiled, his pupils now bronze mechanics. "I cultivate civilizations capable of enduring ultimate flavors."
Transparent walls revealed cultivation pods—thousands of Lin Feng clones studying cosmic cookbooks. One chamber labeled Earth III: Spicy Dark Energy Compatibility Test.
Juzuo's fading voice warned: "He's breeding new ingredients from your genes—" A bronze cleaver interrupted, etched with Lin Jianguo's final log: True delicacy requires the most despairing seasoning.
As Lin Feng dodged, he glimpsed the horrific truth: the New Spark Project sought to refine Godslayers' anguish and civilizations' suffering into ultimate condiments. Earth II's humans had been genetically engineered—their tears became umami enhancers, their bones grindable into spacetime spices.
When Lin Feng moved to detonate the starship reactor, the boy unveiled his final gambit: a pod containing Juzuo's cloned kitten, its tail glowing with the primordial cat-god's sigils. Innocent compound eyes blinked as the fluorescent patterns pulsed—a living recipe for infinite sorrow.