All participating racers were veterans. The ninth-tier challenges felt routine to them – only Latham trailed by nearly 100 kilometers here.


    The tenth-tier entry stretch ranked among the circuit''s most brutal sections. Latham''s entire focus narrowed on the crimson Carey. If that machine maintained 500+ km/h here, he might as well wave a white flag.


    "Slow down... slow down..." he hissed through clenched teeth, willing the scarlet racer''s downfall. Miraculously, the Carey''s speedometer dipped – 400 km/h. Hope flared in Latham''s eyes.


    As the obsidian Galaxy entered the serpentine section, its velocity settled at 398 km/h. The underdog''s path grew clearer – even the frontrunners couldn''t sustain 500 km/h here. Subsequent racers fared worse, their speeds dwindling further.


    When the T-20 finally breached tenth-tier asphalt, Latham''s throat went dry. This nightmare stretch – all hairpins and zero straights – demanded perfection. Yet the soul-driver entity executed flawlessly: left turn, right flick, momentary straight, another left... The speedometer''s needle remained welded at 500 km/h.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Cold sweat dripped down Latham''s neck. Though not physically piloting, the mental strain of processing sensor data through eighth-tier mental energy left him drained. Other drivers – including a ninth-tier mentalist – fought for survival, their consciousnesses overwhelmed by calculus: traction vectors, G-force compensation, predictive braking.


    Meanwhile, Latham''s unique arrangement granted eerie clarity. The soul-driver entity operated without adrenaline or doubt, its decisions surgically precise. While rivals gnashed teeth and white-knuckled controls, Latham even ran victory probability calculations mid-corner.


    The T-20''s factory limitations became irrelevant. Through every diabolical switchback, it carved paths no biological mind could conceive – apexes shaved to atomic tolerances, acceleration pulses timed to nanosecond perfection. The rental sedan shouldn''t have survived tenth-tier physics... yet here it danced, rewriting reality through borrowed genius.