The escape of the liberated mastiffs and tortoises was barely underway. Just then, the steel deck beneath their feet began to shudder with a violent, rhythmic shaking.
High on the western wall of Factory Alpha, a bank of analog pressure gauges erupted into shrill, high-pitched clockwork screaming. Red steam whistled from the seams of the massive riveted boiler pipes overhead. The smell of scorching sulfur grew twenty times stronger in a matter of seconds. Concrete dust drifted from the high ceiling, pattering against Arthur’s helmet like dry rain.
Toby dropped his wrench, staring at the flashing pressure console. “Arthur! The heat in the main earth-heat drain tube just crossed fourteen hundred degrees! The cult didn’t just abandon the forge—they welded the pressure relief valves shut before they ran!”
Arthur sprinted to the master control pulpit overlooking the foundry floor. He swept his Monocle Loupe across the schematics stenciled into the bronze plate.
“They’re attempting a scorched-earth purge,” Arthur said, his eyes scanning the pipe diagrams with rapid math. “Factory Alpha sits directly above a natural fiery fissure inside the floating mountain. The blast furnaces drain tube magma to heat the steam hammers. With the smiths gone and the hammers idle, the heat has nowhere to fade. In less than eight minutes, the pressure vessels will suffer total boiler explosion. The entire southern half of the citadel will tear away and plunge into the sea.”
