Chapter 163: ​The deep subterranean core of the Valerion Dreadnought hissed with an unprecedented, terrifying friction as a massive river of liquid, super-heated dark-red biological plasma was forcefully funneled through the flagship's main processing lines. The standard, cold silver-circuit boards of the Apocalypse System remained completely greyed out and dead, yet the physical titanium structure of the entire one-mile length of the warship violently vibrated, its outer hull plating gathering thick veins of glowing crimson energy that pulsed like a living mechanical heart.​Mark Shola stood perfectly upright on the central reactor balcony deck, his hands casually tucked deep inside his combat jacket pockets. His vertical green pupils narrowed into sharp, predatory slashes as he looked down through the reinforced observation viewport.​Floating at the dead center of the massive furnace vault was the grand harvest of his battle with Vanguard Lord Vrakas—['The

Chapter 165: ​The newly constructed out-system trading hub pipeline hovering over the calcified, dark-red spires of the Beyond Platform violently pulsed with a massive surge of newly siphoned biological capital. As the fifty Reality-Warping Abyssal Dreadnoughts synchronized their core propulsion systems with the [Blood-Matrix Converter], the entire armada surged forward, plunging through the freshly cracked extra-dimensional rift at Mach 300. The trailing wake of their departure left a brilliant, toxic-green trail of plasma static slicing through the crimson blood mist before the dimensional tear slammed completely shut behind them.​Mark Shola sat completely relaxed on his black leather commander's chair inside the primary pilot deck of the Valerion. His hands were casually tucked deep inside his combat jacket pockets, his sneakers resting calmly on the non-reflective terminal console panel.​Beside his throne, the massive, floating holographic display mappin

Chapter 167: ​The immense, translucent violet fog of the Soul-Eater Void Plane violently buckled, its localized spiritual currents swirling into a tight, screaming gravitational vortex directly beneath the underbelly hull of the Valerion. The standard, cold silver-circuit boards of the baseline system remained completely dead and greyed out across Mark Shola’s peripheral vision, yet the physical titanium structure of the entire fifty-ship armada hummed with a deep, bone-rattling organic frequency.​Mark Shola sat completely relaxed on his heavy black leather commander's chair inside the grand command sanctum. His hands were casually buried deep inside his combat jacket pockets, his sneakers resting calmly atop the primary terminal console plate. Beside his throne, the fully active, 100% uncapped real-world manifestations of his trinity—Sly, Zephyr, and Nyx—radiated a combined, god-tier aura that anchored his personal presence at a terrifying, unassailable 55,000 CP Bas

Chapter 169: ​The massive, star-core diamond furnace of the Valerion Dreadnought hissed with an apocalyptic, earth-shaking friction as thousands of tons of siphoned out-system celestial bronze and rotating temporal axles were violently liquidized within the core processing lines. The standard silver-circuit boards of the baseline system remained completely dead and dark across Mark Shola’s vision, yet the physical dark-matter hull plates of his entire fifty-ship armada vibrated with an unyielding, rhythmic mechanical thrum that echoed through the silence of the void.​Mark Shola stood perfectly upright on the primary forge deck balcony, his hands casually buried deep inside his combat jacket pockets. His vertical green pupils narrowed into sharp, predatory slashes as he looked down at the massive gold-bordered blueprint floating before his console interface.​[CURRENT ACCOUNT LEDGER:]• Liquid Balance: 60,500,000 Primordial Cosmic Coins• Active Catalysts:

Chapter 171: ​The reality-warping spatial slipstreams of the Beyond Platform did not merely part to accommodate the return of Mark Shola’s armada; they shattered with a cataclysmic, universe-rending emerald burst that lit up the vacuum for a billion light-years. Emerging from the extra-dimensional rift gates, the fifty Reality-Warping Abyssal Dreadnoughts dropped back into the core airspace of Sector-1, their massive, dark-matter hulls trailing a spectacular wake of gold-and-black chrono-particles. Flanking the colossal warships were the ten thousand newly forged Level 60 Clockwork Guardian Sentinels, their vertical, toxic-green plasma slash eyes casting an ominous, absolute cosmic eclipse over the entire atmosphere of Earth.​Mark Shola stood perfectly upright on the primary command balcony of the Valerion, his hands casually buried deep inside his combat jacket pockets. His vertical green pupils narrowed into sharp, predatory slashes as he looked down at the massive,