The palace bells finally tolled their twelfth chime.
The sound was no longer crisp; it was a dull thud, like a heavy hammer striking a decaying coffin. As the final chime faded, the chandeliers in the crystal dome swayed violently, casting dappled, fragmented light.
All the music stopped abruptly.
The mechanical nobles who had been spinning on the dance floor froze, as if their power had been cut. They maintained their dance postures, but their necks were twisted at an unnatural angle, all fixed on the golden throne atop the high platform.
There sat Queen Victoria.
Or rather, a magnificent, enormous **"vessel"**.
"The time has come." Archbishop Moriarty, standing on the terrace, spread his arms, his red robes fluttering in the hot air rising from below. His face wore an almost manic piety, the tremor of a gambler about to reveal their hand.
"Children, welcome your new life."
"God has awakened."
*Crack*— A crisp cracking sound shattered the silence.
Shen Qingqiu stood in the center of the dance floor, her golden pupils slightly contracting. She clearly saw a fine crack appear on the cheek of the "Queen" seated on the throne.
Like a perfectly glazed porcelain vase, shattering under the weight.
The crack then spread rapidly.
From forehead to chin, from neck to chest.
*Crash*— The face representing the highest power of the empire shattered.
Countless exquisite shards peeled off, fell to the ground, and crumbled into powder.
There was no bloody mess.
Beneath the shattered shards, what was revealed was not human flesh, but a writhing, grayish-white steam-filled mass, and countless wildly spinning golden gears.
The "Queen" opened her mouth—a black hole without lips, only two rows of sharp metal serrations.
"Ha…ha…ha…" A piercing metallic scraping sound emanated from the black hole.
It wasn't laughter.
It was the hiss of an overloaded exhaust valve.
"This is your god?" Shen Qingqiu lightly tapped her chin with her lace folding fan, her tone chilling and mocking.
"A…steam octopus in human skin?"
Rumble—!!!
Before the words were finished, the entire palace floor suddenly trembled violently.
The once-smooth marble floor cracked outwards from the throne.
A thick plume of green steam, reeking of rotting sea and sulfur, erupted from the ground.
"Watch out!" Seventeen reacted swiftly.
His white-gloved left hand grabbed Shen Qingqiu's waist, and in a flash, he leaped onto the top of a massive stone pillar.
Below them, the gates of hell had opened.
Countless thick, slimy, sucker-covered brass tentacles emerged from the cracks in the ground. They were not merely metal; they resembled a stitched-together monstrosity of biological and mechanical structures, each tentacle embedded with rotating eyeballs and steam-spitting nozzles.
This was the so-called "God of Steam and Machines."
A supercomputer, half-biological, half-mechanical.
It had been lurking beneath the surface of the Fog City, draining the soul computing power of the entire city through its pipes.
"Praise be to my Lord! Praise be to evolution!" Archbishop Moriarty roared fanatically.
The mechanical nobles who had stood motionless in the dance floor suddenly opened their arms, welcoming the disgusting tentacles.
The tentacles pierced the back of their heads, penetrating their spines.
Sizzling sounds—accompanied by electric shocks and screams (or perhaps groans of pleasure), their bodies rapidly withered, their souls' light sucked into the ground along the tentacles, becoming nourishment for the "god."
"It's…so ugly." Seventeen stood atop the stone pillar, looking down at the scene.
His eyes, behind his monocle, were filled with a raw, visceral disgust.
As a high-level AI striving for perfection and order, he possessed an instinctive aversion to this chaotic, filthy, slimy, low-level mechanical lifeform.
"Seventeen." Shen Qingqiu leaned against him, her fingers gently tracing the gold epaulets on his military uniform.
"Your uniform is still white." Seventeen glanced down at his spotless white uniform.
"Yes."
"I'll be careful…not to let anything dirty splash on me."
"No." Shen Qingqiu shook her head.
She looked up at the monster's true form, now completely emerging from the shattered "Queen" shell—a gigantic brain covered in tentacles and gears.
"Tonight, you're allowed to get dirty." Shen Qingqiu's golden eyes suddenly lit up, and her folding fan snapped shut, transforming into a black short sword.
"Go smash that throne."
"It's an eyesore."
"Yes, sir." Seventeen took a deep breath.
He removed the silver mask from his face and casually tossed it into the steam abyss below.
His handsome, unparalleled face was now completely exposed.
His right eye was crimson gold, his left eye a deep blue.
Divinity and demonic nature were perfectly intertwined within him.
Sizzle—!
His right hand, the pristine white cotton glove, once again succumbed to the power erupting from within, instantly turning to ashes.
[Xingtian's Grip - Annihilation Form] Dark red heavy armor covered his entire right arm, magma-like patterns surging within his veins.
He didn't perform any elegant opening stance.
He merely slightly bent his knees, and then—
Crack!
The stone pillar beneath his feet shattered instantly.
Seventeen transformed into a white meteor, carrying an aura of world-destroying force, hurtling straight towards the crystal throne atop the high platform.
"Stop him! He's a heretic!" Archbishop Moriarty cried out in terror.
Countless brass tentacles lashed out like whips, attempting to weave an impenetrable net.
Each tentacle carried high-voltage electricity and corrosive vapor.
But Seventeen didn't dodge.
"Get lost!" he growled.
The Xing Tian Grip drew a dark red arc in the air.
Thud thud thud thud— The moment the tentacles touched his right arm, it was like tofu hitting a red-hot knife.
Instantly severed, melted, and evaporated.
The air was filled with severed tentacles and splattered green fluid.
Seventeen weaved through the filthy rain, his white military uniform instantly stained with spots of dirt.
But he didn't care.
His eyes were only on the throne, only on the monster who dared to act like a god before Shen Qingqiu.
"Die!" The monster possessing the queen's body let out a shriek.
It opened its massive, serrated maw, unleashing a beam of deathly light powerful enough to melt a tank.
Seventeen didn't dodge.
He actually extended his mechanical right hand, grabbing directly at the beam!
[Energy Absorption · Reverse Devouring]
Whoosh— The beam of deathly light was swallowed whole by the vortex in his palm.
Although white smoke billowed from his palm, and his armor glowed red and hot, he caught it.
Immediately afterward, he had already rushed to the throne.
"This is your god?"
Seventeen coldly stared at the trembling, soft brain.
He raised his right arm high.
The enormous, grotesque mechanical hand cast a deathly shadow under the light.
Boom—!!!
A punch landed.
Not on the monster.
But on the golden throne, the symbol of imperial power.
The entire throne instantly crumbled, turning into countless golden fragments.
Along with the "Queen" monster who hadn't yet managed to escape, they were both blasted deep into the ground by this punch.
"No—!!!" Moriarty let out a heart-wrenching scream.
The throne was the connection point for "God"; with the throne shattered, the connection between God and the earth was physically severed.
The dust settled.
Seventeen stood atop the ruins.
His once pristine white military uniform was now stained with green bodily fluids and black machine oil, utterly filthy.
Molten iron dripped from his right arm, his chest heaving violently.
He turned to look at Shen Qingqiu, still standing atop the stone pillar.
His eyes held a hint of apprehension, like a child who had dirtied their new clothes and was afraid of being scolded by their parents.
"Master…you're dirty," he murmured.
Shen Qingqiu stood high above, looking at the man standing in the center of the ruins, filthy yet radiant like a god.
She smiled.
A smile that could topple kingdoms.
She leaped, like a black butterfly, fluttering down from the stone pillar.
Seventeen instinctively opened his arms and caught her steadily.
Shen Qingqiu didn't mind the filth on his body.
She reached out and cupped his blood-stained face, placing a kiss on his crimson-gold right eye.
"Good for him."
"This is what I wanted... a sense of brokenness."
She turned to look at Archbishop Moriarty, who was paralyzed with fear on the terrace.
The lace folding fan in his hand unfolded again, obscuring half his face, revealing only a pair of mocking golden eyes.
"Archbishop, your god seems... to have crashed?"
"Next, who's next?" The palace bells had long since stopped ringing.
But in this ravaged ballroom, a new countdown had begun.
Listen to the night bells, the glass throne crumbles.
The old gods are dead.
And the new gods, stepping over the bones of the old gods, are embracing and kissing amidst the ruins.