This was a steel behemoth suspended beneath the turbulent void.

  The Slayer crouched atop a thick steam pipe covered in rust and grease, his form almost blending into the dark, oppressive industrial background around him. His tactical visor took in the scene below, the dark green faceplate reflecting a kaleidoscope of eerie neon purple lights.

  This was no longer the primitive, savage Abyss.

  In the basin below sat a suffocatingly grand "Demonic Energy Refinery."

  Countless massive gears meshed slowly with deafening rumbles, every rotation squeezing out visible sparks of spiritual power. Thousands of brass chimneys spewed exhaust toward the artificial dome—but not black smoke. Instead, it was glowing, radioactive data residue. The air reeked of a burnt mixture of machine oil, ozone, and high-concentration mana.

  This was a civilized world within the "Dimensional Crack" — the fringe industrial zone of the [Steam-Magic Metropolis].

  The Slayer’s gaze cut through layers of metal scaffolding, locking onto the core area of the mine.

  There were no coolies swinging pickaxes.

  In their place were thousands of humanoids wearing uniform grey coveralls and "Psionic Suppression Collars" around their necks. They were slender, pale-skinned, and even through the grease on their faces, one could see exquisite features. Their pointed ears betrayed their racial identity—The Spirit Race (Eldar/Elves).

  But they weren't doing primitive labor.

  The Slayer saw a Spirit standing before a complex console, pale fingers flying across a floating holographic rune keyboard, debugging a massive, roaring "Aether Centrifuge."

  Another group of Spirits, wearing goggles and holding precision laser etching pens, was micro-engraving voltage-stabilizing arrays invisible to the naked eye onto energy batteries ready for packaging.

  This was a grotesque hybrid of steam power, information technology, and black magic.

  And standing behind these highly skilled slaves were Demon Overseers holding high-voltage electric whips and thermal rifles.

  These demons had "evolved" too. They were no longer naked; they wore exoskeleton armor with hydraulic assist systems and gas masks. Their chaotic roars had been replaced by cold electronic commands over intercoms.

  "Number 9527, efficiency down by 3%."

  *CRACK!*

  A blue arc of high voltage whipped viciously onto the back of the Spirit debugging the centrifuge. The Spirit convulsed but dared not even scream. He could only grit his teeth and type faster.

  *Clench.*

  The Slayer's fingers gripping the metal railing tightened violently.

  The solid steel pipe, ten centimeters in diameter, was crushed and twisted in his hand like playdough.

  His breathing grew heavy, the roar of the reactor in his chest beginning to drown out the surrounding steam. The rage that had never truly subsided was reignited by the atrocity before him.

  No matter how much like civilized people the demons dressed, no matter how high the technology they mastered.

  Slavery is slavery.

  Demons are demons.

  The Slayer slowly stood up, his hand reaching for the BFG-9000 on his back.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  "Wait! Slayer! Don't clear the map just yet!"

  Singularity's voice suddenly exploded in his headset, carrying the extreme excitement of someone who had just found a gold mine.

  The stealth drone hovering behind the Slayer was currently running frantic, high-precision facial recognition and capability assessments on the Spirit slaves below.

  Inside the Netherworld Control Center, Singularity was practically lying on the screen, his hands flying over a virtual abacus (literally an abacus, because he felt it gave a more "calculating" vibe).

  "Slayer, look at that little guy fixing the reactor! That hand speed! That's the hand speed of a wizard who's been single for three thousand years! He's using a 'Reverse Spirit Particle Algorithm' I've never even seen to patch the core vulnerability!"

  "And look at that woman over there! She can sense the purity of demonic ore with her bare hands! That's a natural-born 'Appraiser'!"

  Singularity was incoherent with excitement, projecting a series of analytical data onto the Slayer's HUD.

  [Target Race: Spirit Race (High-Intelligence Subspecies).]

  [Racial Talents: Universal Communication, Precision Operation, Spirit Plant Cultivation, Array Architecture.]

  [Current Status: Deeply exploited cheap technical labor.]

  [Potential Value: SSR (Priceless).]

  "Slayer, think about it!"

  Singularity's voice was full of temptation, like a shady manager pitching a financial product.

  "Our Netherworld has upgraded its hardware, but the software can't keep up! Those Ghost Enforcers are brutish louts; they don't know anything besides hooking souls. I have to maintain the 'Netherworld Cloud System' personally—I'm about to die from overwork!"

  "Also, didn't you complain before that the Netherworld was bald and ugly? These Spirits are natural gardeners and architects! If we can bring them back..."

  Singularity pulled up a "Netherworld Talent Introduction Plan" on the screen.

  "We need engineers! We need programmers! We need technicians who can automate the Soup of Oblivion production line!"

  "This isn't a slave mine! This is clearly a 'High-End Talent Reserve Warehouse' that the Netherworld urgently needs!"

  The Slayer didn't speak.

  He just coldly watched the Demon Overseer below, who was currently stepping on a Spirit's head with a leather boot.

  His fists clenched, arm blades popping out and retracting, making rapid metallic clicking sounds.

  He was enduring.

  But his patience bar was about to explode.

  Singularity keenly sensed that the Slayer's killing intent was about to spiral out of control and quickly changed his tune:

  "So! Slayer! We must save them!"

  "But this can't be a simple massacre! This has to be an 'Asset Protection' rescue operation!"

  "We need to snatch these Spirits back intact! They are the Netherworld's future GDP! They are your logistics support team! Losing even one is a massive loss of state assets!"

  "Especially that Mine Owner—the guy hiding in the back counting money. He definitely holds the control rights to these 'Collars'. If we don't get the decryption key for the collars, these Spirits will be brain-dead even if we save them."

  The Slayer's helmet turned slightly, looking toward the Command Tower deep in the mine that flashed with blinding red light.

  That was where the demonic aura was strongest.

  And the nexus of all this sin.

  Singularity's voice turned insidious and firm:

  "Slayer, our objective has changed."

  "It's no longer simple 'Destruction'."

  "It is... 'Zero-Dollar Shopping'."

  "Kill all demons, seize the equipment, take the talent. We are going to pack up this entire mine—people, tech, and all—and take it back to the Netherworld!"

  The Slayer listened to this speech full of capitalist nonsense.

  He didn't care about talent acquisition, nor did he care about GDP.

  He only extracted the core logic:

  1. Those pointy-eared guys are the weak being bullied.

  2. Those guys with whips are damned demons.

  3. Kill all demons, and the weak survive.

  This fit his logic perfectly.

  *Ch-chk.*

  The Slayer racked the slide of the Yin Yang Shotgun again.

  He didn't reply to Singularity.

  He just made one move.

  He raised his foot and stomped heavily on the steam pipe.

  *CLANG!*

  The thick steel pipe caved in instantly.

  He didn't choose stealth, nor did he choose to crawl through the ventilation ducts.

  He chose the most direct way—and his favorite way—

  The Slayer leaped.

  From a hundred meters in the air, like a dark green meteor carrying the kinetic energy of destruction and a chest full of rage, he smashed straight down into the group of Demon Overseers in the center of the mine.

  ...

  Netherworld Control Center.

  Singularity watched the rapidly dropping altitude reading on the screen, sighed helplessly, and pressed the red button in his hand.

  "Alright, since negotiations have broken down (there were no negotiations), initiate Plan B."

  *Next Chapter: Infiltrating the Mine. Uh... although the Slayer interpreted the word 'Infiltrate' as 'Kill your way in through the front door and leave no survivors,' perhaps this is the most efficient way to infiltrate? After all, as long as no one sees you, it's a perfect infiltration."*