The edge of the shattered Netherworld Gates dropped into nothingness.
Ten thousand feet of empty underground air plunged vertically into the belly of the continent, vanishing into black ancient fog.
A rising heat gale howled out of the depths, reeking of ancient sulfur, cold corpse-methane, and powdered dragon bone.
Lu Chen stood at the crumbling dark rock rim.
His wolf-skin cloak snapped against the heavy grease-stained oilcloth apron bound over his chest.
Behind him, parked on the glass-fused shelf three paces from the lip, sat the heavy iron wagon.
Four iron-rimmed hickory wheels rested against thick granite chocks.
In the wagon bed, two iron-bound casks of rendered camel animal fat and star-iron suet were strapped down with triple-braided rawhide.
