The heavy iron wagon rolled off the cooling raised stone road of shattered dark rock, its iron-banded wheels grinding onto the solid bedrock of the southern shore.
Behind them, the five-mile expanse of the Stygian Magma Waterfall lay split in two.
The cut carcass of the Magma-Behemoth sat wedged firmly between the canyon walls, its cooling black stone hide hissing. Leftover white steam rose toward the cave vault.
The air on the southern bank was different.
The choking stench of liquid corpse-melted rock waste pulled back, replaced by the dry, metal reek of deep-mantle earth-shaking friction and tightly packed stone ores.
An Ni drove the iron brake lever down until the teeth locked with a heavy metal click.
She hopped down from the wagon box, her heavy leather boots crunching into coarse black gravel.
She didn’t celebrate.
