Before Tie could finish the forbidden art, a golden chime sounded in Austin’s mind.
Heat and pressure folded inward around Austin’s core. The escaping force became weight.
Dust dropped from the air. The copper power bars sagged. Austin’s boots cracked the tile beneath them.
Xiaoyao fell flat. The pangolins spread under the workbench like three armored rugs. Around the safety line, miners lowered themselves carefully to the floor.
Tie Kuang took one more step and crashed onto both knees. His hammer struck beside him and made a deep dent.
Austin stayed standing, though his body felt slow and heavy. Server lag, he thought. Some janky physics engine.
“Five-gravity field. Of course. Just what a crowded repair job needs.”
He checked the injured workers first. The extra weight could hurt anyone with cracked ribs. He narrowed the field around his own body until they could breathe more easily, then told Kang to move them out in small groups.
Tie tried to lift his hammer. His arms shook.
Austin walked over. Each step landed with a heavy thud.
“Your forbidden art is not worth dying for. Let it go.”
Tie bared his teeth. “You think a heavy floor makes you a god?”
“No. It makes you hard to lift.”
Austin crouched so they were eye to eye. “Your crew is alive. Your contract can still supply metal. You have lost a fight. You have not lost everything.”
For a moment, Tie’s anger had nowhere to go.
Then he looked past Austin at Kang helping an injured technician. His own director had chosen the other side. His workers had followed. The old man heard not reason, but public defeat.
He bit through the seal on his blood art.
Red fire ran beneath his skin.
Kang shouted, “Stop!”
Tie’s Golden Core began to burn its stored years. His body swelled, tearing the straps of his armor. Black-red plates formed over his muscles. He forced the hammer off the floor.
Austin stood and picked up his wrench.
Xiaoyao, still flat on the stone, managed to lift his head. “Senior, the ceiling is not rated for this.”
“Nothing is rated for this.”
Austin checked the gravity readout again. He could hold Tie down, but the man would keep burning his life until his core failed. He had to end the next attack quickly.
Tie rose to eleven feet. Magma horns broke from his brow. Heat curled the labels on nearby crates.
The miners stared at their Grand Elder. No one cheered this time.
Senior Forge-Hand Zhao spoke from the stretcher.
“Grand Elder, please. Enough.”
Tie looked at him, then away.
That small pause was the last sign that he had heard anyone at all.