Awakening a 10,000x Skill Proficiency Multiplier in the Apocalypse Chapter 145: [146]: Admin Suspicion Spikes, The Firewall Wak

Sebastian let out a long, exhausted sigh. He tossed the bloody spinal column onto the crushed chest plate of Guild Master Regis. It landed with a wet, heavy thud that made half the room flinch.

He reached up and gripped the edges of his featureless black helt. The kinetic-dampening polyr of the Blank suit had done its job flawlessly, absorbing the sheer kinetic force of a hundred-ton ch without a single scratch.

But right now, it was just hot and stuffy.

With a sharp hiss of depressurization, Sebastian pulled the helt off and

carelessly tossed it onto the marble floor. It rolled away, clattering against a broken wine glass.

The mont the helt disconnected from his neural link, the optical spoofing of his disguise dropped. The sleek, terrifying black tactical suit rippled, the polygons violently shifting and rendering back into the generic, grey-and-blue uniform of a Level 42 Vanguard Gunner. His face shifted, returning to the

slightly pudgy, remarkably average features of Trent.

A collective gasp echoed from the huddled nobles. They recognized the uniform.

They recognized the low-level grunt insignia on his shoulder.

"He’s... he’s just a guard!" an aristocratic Mage whispered, her voice trembling in absolute disbelief. "A Level 42 grunt just ripped the Guild Master apart!"

Sebastian didn’t care about their shock. He cracked his neck, relishing the satisfying pop of his dense, biological steel vertebrae. He had just executed the hardest part of the infiltration. He had eliminated the top brass, secured the room, and bypassed the Reality Anchor’s magic suppression using pure, unadulterated physics.

"Alright," Sebastian muttered, wiping a sar of synthetic oil from his cheek.

"Ti to go unplug the router and take this server off the grid."

But the Ethereal Plane was not a stupid machine. It was a highly advanced, painfully strict mathematical engine. And the math had just violently ceased to make sense.

For the last ten minutes, the server’s localized anti-cheat algorithms had been desperately trying to process what was happening in the ballroom.

A Level 42 Gunner with zero points in physical strength had just effortlessly crushed a Level 65 cyborg. That sa Gunner had then survived a thirty-foot drop, tanked a barrage of depleted uranium rounds, and physically torn the arms off a Level 85

World Boss-tier chanical suit.

Without magic. Without buffs. Without any registered Ethereal Plane skills.

The system’s logic gates finally caught up to the sheer, impossible absurdity of the physical violence.

BING! BING! BING!

The cheerful, standard system chi didn’t sound. Instead, a harsh, blaring klaxon erupted directly inside Sebastian’s skull. It was a sound like grinding gears and screaming tal.

His spoofed green-and-blue UI forcefully projected itself into his vision. The interface, which had been resting peacefully in the corner of his eye, suddenly expanded, turning a bright, glaring, and angry red.

[CRITICAL WARNING: IMPOSSIBLE PHYSICS PARATERS DETECTED.] [Entity: ’Trent’ (Level 42 Gunner) Output Exceeds Maximum Server Limitations by 10,000%.]

Sebastian gritted his teeth as a sharp spike of pain lanced through his temples.

"Oh, co on. Don’t be a sore loser," he grumbled at the floating text.

The massive red [Admin Suspicion] ter, which had sat perfectly at zero percent since he entered the city, suddenly jerked to life.

It didn’t tick up slowly. It rocketed.

[ADMIN SUSPICION: 45%... 60%... 85%...]

"Shit," Sebastian hissed, his deadpan deanor finally cracking. "The firewall is waking up."

The planetary defense grid of Server 112 wasn’t just a passive shield. It was an active, aggressive anti-virus software designed to instantly delete anything that threatened the structural integrity of the corporate dystopia.

And Sebastian had just tripped every single alarm in the building.

The ambient atmosphere in the grand ballroom violently shifted. The air grew incredibly heavy, tasting sharply of ozone and burning copper. The temperature plumted.

[ADMIN SUSPICION: 95%...]

"What is happening?!" a noble scread, pointing frantically at the walls.

The polished obsidian of the ballroom walls began to ripple and warp like water reacting to a heavy bass drop. The localized reality of the room was actively tearing at the seams.

From the dark, shifting geotry of the walls, figures began to manifest.

They didn’t walk through doors. They phased directly through the solid stone, stepping out of the server’s foundational code and into the physical space.

There were twelve of them. They were towering, faceless entities clad in liquid, reflective chro. They possessed no features, no organic biology, and no rcy.

They were the Void Wardens, the absolute apex executioners of the Ethereal Plane, deployed only when the system needed to aggressively purge a critical anomaly.

"Oh, great. The fun police," Sebastian muttered, his silver-tinged eyes tracking

the heavily ard entities.

The Wardens didn’t carry standard weapons. In their right hands, they held long, thin rapiers made entirely of condensed, glowing red error code.

The logic-blades humd with a terrifying, high-frequency vibration that made the

surrounding air physically blur.

"Target localized," the lead Warden announced. Its voice wasn’t spoken; it was

broadcasted simultaneously into the minds of everyone in the room.

"Anomaly detected. Initiating imdiate and permanent deletion protocols."

The huddled masses of corporate elites shrieked and scrambled away from the chro angels of death. The Wardens didn’t care about collateral damage. One of the nobles, an overweight rchant who tripped and fell into the path of a marching Warden, was casually stepped on.

The mont the Warden’s chro boot touched the rchant, the NPC didn’t bleed.

He simply dissolved into a cloud of green, unrendered pixels, entirely erased from the server’s registry without a second thought.

Sebastian watched the man vanish. He didn’t reach for a weapon. He didn’t bother trying to fight them.

He knew exactly what the Wardens were. He had fought one in the Juncture. He had

managed to crash it by injecting his own corrupted error code into its system, but that was a one-on-one fight in a dead zone.

Here, in the absolute center of a fully powered, heavily fortified server, fighting twelve Wardens at once was tactical suicide.

If one of those red logic-blades even grazed him, it wouldn’t just drain his health bar. It would permanently uninstall his digital existence.

[ADMIN SUSPICION: 98%...]

The red bar in his vision was flashing wildly. The mont it hit one hundred percent, the orbital cannons mounted on the outside of the Dyson sphere would lock onto his exact coordinates and turn the entire Spire into a crater just to ensure his deletion.

"I don’t have ti for this," Sebastian grunted.

He had to get to the Server Pillar. He had to pull the Regional Core and completely collapse the localized system before the

firewall finished processing his execution order.

The twelve Void Wardens raised their red logic-blades in perfect, terrifying unison. They locked their featureless, mirrored visors onto the Level 42 Gunner standing in the center of the room.

"Execute," the lead Warden commanded.

They lunged forward. They didn’t run; they skipped fras of animation, glitching across the ballroom floor at speeds that broke the sound barrier, entirely ignoring the ruined terrain of the shattered obsidian tiles.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. The laid-back, sarcastic Drifter was gone. The Sovereign of Laws took the wheel.

"Let’s see if you machines can keep up with a real glitch," Sebastian whispered, his muscles coiling tight as he prepared to break every remaining rule on the server.