Yin Lie knew it the moment he tried to breathe.
His lungs worked.
His heart still beat.
But something fundamental refused to respond.
Not pain.
Limit.
1. The Body Says No
They were running again.
Not fast.
Not clean.
Just enough to stay ahead of collapsing tunnels and descending containment seals. The city above them was no longer subtle. Heavy barriers slammed down in sequence, sealing entire sections of the underground like closing jaws.
Every step Yin Lie took felt delayed.
As if his body had to ask permission before moving.
Permission it no longer had.
His left leg dragged.
Ice formed late, uneven, cracking as soon as it stabilized. The Keystone patterns in his perception flickered like broken glass—angles wrong, connections missing.
He nearly fell.
Qin Mian caught him.
"Lie—stop—please—"
He shook his head.
"No time."
That wasn't bravery.
That was math.
2. The Countdown Is Not External
Kai's voice came sharp through the noise.
"Containment net in three minutes. Maybe less."
Qin Mian's Anchor trembled violently, reacting to the pressure from above. The city wasn't trying to suppress her anymore.
It was isolating variables.
She clutched her chest.
"It's pushing me to stabilize explainability," she gasped.
"It wants me to become predictable again."
Yin Lie understood.
If the city succeeded, Qin Mian would stop changing.
And if she stopped changing—
the hunter would finish the job.
3. The Choice He Was Never Meant to Make Again
Yin Lie stopped.
Kai turned sharply.
"What are you doing?!"
He didn't answer.
He was listening—to the hollow space inside himself where resonance used to live. That channel was gone. Burned out. Permanently severed.
But beneath that absence—
there was still structure.
Damaged.
Misaligned.
But present.
The Keystone didn't care about permission.
It cared about continuity.
"Lie," Qin Mian whispered, fear flooding her voice.
"Don't."
He looked at her.
Really looked.
She was still human.
Still afraid.
Still choosing pain over certainty.
That mattered.
4. Overreach Is Not Power
Yin Lie reached inward.
Not carefully.
Not respectfully.
He forced his awareness into the Keystone lattice—past safe thresholds, past missing feedback channels, past the point where the system had already told him no.
Something tore.
Not flesh.
Concept.
His vision inverted.
Up became inside. Distance lost meaning. He tasted copper and cold and something like burning geometry.
Kai shouted his name.
He didn't hear it.
5. The Keystone Responds Without Him
The Keystone activated.
Not as a tool.
As a fail-state.
Geometry unfolded violently, incomplete and unstable. Reality around them didn't bend—it misaligned. Angles twisted. Space lost agreement with itself.
The tunnel walls screamed.
Concrete fractured into impossible shapes, folding inward without collapsing. Gravity shifted sideways for half a second.
Qin Mian screamed as the Anchor reacted—
not attacking.
Synchronizing.
6. Qin Mian Feels Him Breaking
"Lie—STOP—"
She felt it.
The Anchor didn't correct him.
It registered him as unrecoverable input.
That terrified her more than pain ever had.
His heartbeat went wrong—stuttering, skipping beats. Blood poured from his nose and mouth as his body tried and failed to interpret what his mind had forced.
Kai grabbed him as his legs buckled.
"His vitals are crashing!" she yelled.
"He's burning structural integrity!"
Yin Lie laughed weakly.
"…Good."
7. The World Freezes—Briefly
For exactly two seconds—
the city lost coherence in that sector.
Containment fields desynchronized. Predictive models stalled. Autonomous responses hesitated, unable to resolve causality.
Two seconds.
That was all.
But it was enough.
Qin Mian felt the pressure lift.
The Anchor screamed—not in pain, but conflict.
Its optimization failed.
Because Yin Lie's action had no efficient interpretation.
8. The Price Locks In
Then the backlash hit.
Hard.
Yin Lie convulsed violently, body arching as ice erupted uncontrolled from his spine—not forming, not stabilizing—just leaking.
Keystone patterns collapsed inward.
Something inside him burned out completely.
Not damaged.
Removed.
His scream didn't come from his throat.
It came from somewhere deeper.
Then—
silence.
He went limp.
9. Qin Mian Breaks Formation
"No—no—no—"
Qin Mian dropped to her knees, pulling him into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Lie—wake up—please—"
The Anchor surged violently—
then stopped.
Not suppressed.
Not corrected.
Paused.
For the first time since its evolution began—
it waited.
10. Kai Sees the Readout
Kai scanned him.
Her face went white.
"…He's alive," she said.
"But something is gone."
Qin Mian looked up, eyes wild.
"Gone?"
Kai swallowed.
"His Keystone interface," she said quietly.
"It's collapsed. Not offline."
"…Unreachable."
11. The Hunter Feels the Aftershock
Far above, the world-level hunter staggered mid-step.
His smile vanished.
"…That was reckless," he murmured.
Then, slowly—
he smiled again.
"Good."
He checked the data.
Yin Lie's signature dimmed—not fading, but simplifying.
"…You traded infinity for time."
He nodded.
"A fair exchange."
12. What Remains
Qin Mian rocked back and forth, holding Yin Lie's broken body.
"I didn't ask you to do that," she sobbed.
"I didn't want this."
The Anchor pulsed faintly.
Not punishing.
Not guiding.
Listening.
She looked down at him.
"…You idiot," she whispered through tears.
"…You absolute idiot."
But she held him tighter.
End of the Chapter
Deep beneath a city that had lost patience, a second forbidden line was crossed.
Not to win.
Not to escape.
But to delay the inevitable.
Yin Lie lay unconscious, systems permanently altered, power paths severed beyond repair.
Qin Mian remained awake—Anchor unstable, conflicted, silent for the first time.
The city resumed its countdown.
The hunter resumed his walk.
And the world moved forward—
with one less rule holding it together.