The crossing of the white granulite raised stone road led the squad into a narrow dark rock gorge where the heat currents formed churning, roaring eddies. Along the sheer upright cliffs of the gorge, huge six-sided fissures opened like the entrances to underground cathedrals, their perimeters crusted with glittering sheets of glass-fused stone melted rock waste.
Arthur raised his hand, signaling an immediate halt.
Grimm was already frozen in place. His low crouch lowered his balance point to within inches of the ground. The hound’s single ear was cocked toward the cliff face, his nostrils flaring as he analyzed the hot rotten-egg vapor pouring from the six-sided tunnels. His black glass-coated hackles rose in a dense, defensive ridge along his spine.
“Adult Cinder Wyrms,” Arthur whispered, reading the test overlay scrolling across his monocle. “Not the larvae we met on the upper bridge. These are mature specimens—fifty meters in length, armored in metamorphic dark rock plates that have undergone a century of heat crystal-forming. Their bite pressure exceeds four thousand pounds of pressure.”
From the largest fissure, forty meters above their heads, a huge snake-like head slid into view. The creature’s head was a massive wedge of blackened diamond-dark rock. It was flanked by four pairs of compound eyes that burned with the cruel orange glare of molten copper. Its jaws were jagged slabs of magnetic iron that clicked together with the sound of iron doors slamming shut, venting streams of pale yellow sulfur gas.
