​Chapter 122: ​The massive, country-sized crystal tuning forks guarding the outer ring of Sector-7 didn't just crack under the impact of the fifty incoming black-hole singularities—they completely disintegrated into millions of vibrating, translucent shards. The space-tearing green plasma lances fired by the [Chrono-Apocalypse Dreadnoughts] cut through the soundless void at Mach 200, turning the frontline quarantine matrix into a silent cloud of cosmic static in less than a single millisecond. ​[VICTORY LOG ENGAGED...] ​Targets Vaporized: 250x Harmonic Sentinel Discs. ​Experience Awarded: +400,000 EXP! ​Current Progression Matrix: Level 36 (95% toward breakthrough). ​Mark Shola stood perfectly upright on the external hull deck of the Valerion, his hands casually tucked deep inside his combat jacket pockets. His vertical green pupils remained entirely locked onto the gleaming, high-frequency core of the metallic world below. ​Suddenly, the absolute silence of the sterile

Chapter 124:​The massive, diamond-glass battlements of the [Grand Prism Citadel] didn't just crack under the synchronized barrage of fifty gravity-tearing black-hole singularities—they shattered into a blinding storm of razor-sharp spatial glass. The green plasma lances fired by the [Chrono-Apocalypse Dreadnoughts] cut through the fractal vacuum at Mach 250, wiping out the remaining illusion grids in a flash of pure destruction.​[VICTORY LOG ENGAGED...]​Targets Vaporized: The Outer Prism Bastion & 500 Illusion Nodes.​Experience Awarded: +950,000 EXP!​Current Progression Matrix: Level 34 (85% toward breakthrough).​Mark Shola didn't order another bombardment. With his personal baseline power permanently anchored at an unstoppable 35,000 CP following his recent evolution, he simply stepped off the edge of the Valerion’s command balcony, allowing gravity to pull him straight down toward the central throne plaza of the collapsing citadel.​He didn't draw

Chapter 126: The reality-warping hyperspace slipstreams of the multiversal warp matrix violently tore open, releasing a sudden, blinding ripple of translucent black and toxic-green energy as fifty colossal silhouettes dropped out of the dimensional rifts. The newly evolved [Reality-Warping Abyssal Dreadnoughts] of Mark Shola’s personal armada materialized in a flawless, interlocking defensive triad formation. Their hulls—forged from solid, space-tearing dark matter infused with conceptual prism fragments—constantly shifted between absolute physical shadow and translucent crystal glass, rendering them completely invisible to any long-range targeting radars in the sector.​Mark Shola stood perfectly upright on the primary command deck balcony of his flagship dreadnought, the Valerion. His hands were casually tucked deep inside his combat jacket pockets, his vertical green pupils reflecting the bone-chilling, pale environment of Sector-9.​Unlike the shifting deceptio

Chapter 128:The space-time continuum of Sector-10 didn’t just warp; it collapsed inward like a dying star under an impossible, crushing weight that defied every known law of physics across the Higher Multiverse Plane. Fifty pitch-black, hyper-dense [Reality-Warping Abyssal Dreadnoughts] dropped out of the hyperspace vortex with a deafening, reality-tearing crack, instantly catching the fierce, multi-directional gravitational pull of a thousand interlocking black holes. The titanium-and-glass composite hulls groaned, their automated gravitational stabilizers screaming as they fought desperately against an environmental pressure exceeding one million times standard Earth gravity—a crushing force designed to instantly liquefy any biological entity or standard interstellar armada into subatomic soup.​Mark Shola stood perfectly upright on the primary command deck balcony of the flagship Valerion, his hands casually tucked deep inside his heavy combat jacket pockets. His ve

Chapter 130:​The hyper-dimensional slipstreams of the multiversal warp matrix didn't just tear open—they shattered like fragile crystal glass, releasing a blinding, universe-wide wave of golden-white static and neon-purple shockwaves as fifty colossal, pitch-black [Reality-Warping Abyssal Dreadnoughts] dropped out of the sovereign gateway vortex. The newly evolved fleet materialized in a flawless, interlocking strategic invasion formation right at the edge of the final horizon.​Mark Shola stood perfectly upright on the primary command deck balcony of his flagship, the Valerion. His hands were casually tucked deep inside his heavy combat jacket pockets, his vertical green pupils reflecting the staggering, reality-defying environment of the ultimate plane.​Unlike the structured sectors below, space here had no boundaries, no stars, and no physical matter. It was an infinite, blinding expanse of pure, unrefined genesis code—a vast ocean of raw, golden-white data str