The Fall of the Digital King

In the hollowed silence of his fallen empire, Luo Jian’s breath came in ragged spurts—wet, shallow gasps swallowed by darkness. The hum of his server fortress was gone. The encrypted pulses that once laced his command center had faded into a void. Even the echo of his downfall sounded distant, devoured by the stillness.

Sweat trickled from his brow, hitting the cold floor with the finality of a metronome counting down his relevance.

Somewhere, Bintang was likely laughing—that chilling, mirthless sound that felt like prophecy fulfilled. Sebastian would be recalculating timelines, moving invisible pieces on a fractured board. Tian Hao, ever the Syndicate’s cold-blooded financier, would be barking orders, trying to salvage the ruins of a dream built on secrets and surveillance.

But here, at the center of the collapse, all Luo Jian had was ruin.

The digital king had burned his name from history—no trace, no monument, only whispers swallowed by data voids.

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