The air in the Auction House of the Damned didn't just turn cold; it turned heavy with the scent of ancient, pressurized copper. The Sovereign of Ash descended from his viewing box, not by walking, but by the floor itself rising to meet his Deep-Void armor. Every step he took left a footprint of weeping, black oil on the white-quartz stage.
Han Feng stood his ground, the Azure Phoenix Wing humming in his right hand while the Purification Mirror on his chest stabilized his fractured meridians. He could feel the eyes of a thousand desperate cultivators on him—some hoping for his death, others praying for a miracle that would break their own invisible chains.
"You speak of 'cleaning' my room, boy," the Sovereign rumbled, the mechanical vox-grille of his helmet vibrating. "But you are standing in a world that was built on the ashes of those who tried to be pure. The Middle Realm doesn't need a sanitizer. It needs a battery."
He raised a gauntlet of Aether-Brass, and the ceiling of the skull-city groaned. Four massive Aether-Brass Golems, each thirty feet tall and powered by the groaning souls of captured cultivators, detached from the walls. Their eyes glowed with a sickly, steam-powered violet light.
The golems moved with a mechanical precision that the Lower Realm's Emperor couldn't have dreamt of. They didn't use Qi techniques; they used Aether-Cannons and Hydraulic Crushers.
"Lin Xiruo, the gears! Su Yue, find the pressure release on their heels!" Han Feng commanded, his mind racing through a thousand battle-simulations.
The first golem swung a fist the size of a boulder. Han Feng didn't parry; he used the Void-Filter Heart to sense the flow of the steam within the machine. He saw the "Dirt"—the soot and the suffering—that powered the golem's core.
He leaped, his boots skimming over the brass knuckles, and thrust the Azure Phoenix Wing into the golem's shoulder joint. He didn't slash. He Injected.
"Refine!"
A surge of 100% pure essence traveled from the Star-Silk into the golem's mechanical veins. The effect was catastrophic for the machine. The pure energy acted like a diamond grit in a precision engine. The violet steam turned white, expanded rapidly, and blew the golem's arm clean off its hinges in a spray of boiling water and scrap metal.
"One," Han Feng grunted, landing in a crouch.
The Sovereign of Ash watched with a tilted head, seemingly unbothered by the loss of a multi-million Ash-Core weapon. "Impressive. You aren't just a filter; you're a disruptor. You turn the very order of our world into a weapon against it."
Suddenly, the Sovereign pointed a finger toward Su Yue, who was currently dismantling the cooling system of the second golem. A bolt of black, pressurized oil shot from his gauntlet.
Han Feng's heart skipped. He couldn't reach her in time.
CLANG.
Lin Xiruo appeared in a blur of silver, her rapier glowing with a desperate, cold sword-intent. She deflected the bolt, but the force of it shattered her straw hat and sent her skidding back, her arms trembling. The "Deep-Void" energy was already beginning to eat at her silver blade.
"Enough games," the Sovereign said. "You want to survive? Then prove you can handle the Seven Hells."
He slammed his fist into the floor. A massive, circular array of red and black light erupted beneath the entire Auction House. The "jaw" of the skull-city began to close, trapping everyone inside a pocket dimension.
Han Feng felt the world tilt. The Auction House didn't just close; it sank. They were falling through the layers of the planet, passing through the Mantle of Misery and the Strata of Sighs.
"Where are you taking us?" Han Feng roared, his Mirror glowing red as it tried to process the sudden surge of underworld gravity.
"To the Pre-Fall Treasury of the Seven Hells," the Sovereign's voice echoed through the descending chamber. "The gates are locked by a seal of 'Primal Muck'—the concentrated filth of the first war. My machines can't touch it. My alchemists can't dissolve it. But you... you are the key."
The descent stopped with a bone-shattering jar.
The doors of the skull-city groaned open to reveal a sight that made the Void-Devourer look like a minor inconvenience. They were standing at the edge of a sea of black, sentient sludge. In the center of the sea stood a gate of white gold, so pure it hurt to look at. But the gate was wrapped in chains made of solidified darkness.
"Clean that gate," the Sovereign commanded, his army of mechanized guards surrounding Han Feng's group. "And I might let your girls live to see the moons again. Fail... and you'll spend eternity as the grease in my golems."
Han Feng looked at the gate. He felt the Purification Mirror on his chest let out a long, low hum—a sound of recognition. This wasn't just a treasury.
"This is a Sarcophagus," Han Feng whispered, his eyes widening. "You're not looking for gold. You're looking for the Body of the First Sanitizer
The Sovereign of Ash froze, his vox-grille emitting a static-filled hiss. Slowly, he reached up and unlatched his helmet. When the mask fell away, there was no face—only a swirling vortex of the same black sludge that filled the sea.
"Correct," the voice, now hollow and ancient, echoed. "I have been waiting ten thousand years for a hand that can open my own tomb. Now, boy... begin the wash."