Molten sun-fire spilled from the lip of the baked-clay crucible in a blinding, thick, sticky stream.
Sssssssssss—CRACKLE!
The liquid composite hissed wildly as it filled the box-shaped graphite mold resting at the base of the star-granite anvil.
Swirling ribbons of liquid-gold Furnace Brass mingled with the deep black glass slurry of melted Nether-Basalt, their contrasting colors refusing to separate under the leftover two-thousand-degree wash of Lu Chen’s star-fire breath.
Sparks like falling stars showered the flat stone slabs. It bounced off Lu Chen’s bare chest and An Ni’s boiled leather apron.
Lu Chen withdrew his hands from the twin tuyeres.
He broke body contact with the intake pipes. Then, the ear-splitting roar of the blood-fire blast cut out, replaced by the heavy, echoing silence of the underground vault.
His palms were blackened with carbonized melted rock waste.
