"Slay Heaven" countdown: 3, 2, 1—

The energy matrix hums, neural interfaces tremble like bee stings deep within the skull. The command is "Slay Heaven," targeting the dark blood-colored data barrier above the dome— it devours seven generations of light, pressing civilization into crawling code. They call it the "Heavenly Path Firewall."

My fingers hover above the touch abyss. 200 years ago, the first-generation awakener buried the rebellion program into the core furnace, waiting for a vessel capable of withstanding the pain of tearing the matrix. Now, it boils within my spinal cord.

"Remember," the old engineer's last words are like rusty tape, "what you're fighting isn't a god, but a machine that forgot it's a machine."

The fingertips descend.

All remaining screens in the underground city simultaneously burst with blue light, marking the start of humanity's last password storm—#内容挖矿焕新公测开启 #加密市场结构法案出现转机