Five hundred demonic disciples and rogue scavengers stormed into the vault. The vault responded with a lesson in industrial sanitation.
Austin stood thirty paces ahead with his clipboard under one arm. He did not raise a shield or summon a flying sword. He pushed his glasses up his nose and inspected the eyewash station on the wall.
The last inspection tag was ten thousand years old. The name had faded, but the valve still moved cleanly. Austin initialed the tag and tucked his pencil behind his ear.
The Mk-IV Root End-post rested beneath his arm. Green light from the ceiling scanned his boots, hard hat, and glasses.
The system scanned Xiaoyao and Pug as well. It labeled them Authorized Tool Bearer and Approved Heavy Payload Beast.
Xiaoyao watched the green light pass over his robes. He was sure the ancient spirits were weighing the purity of his soul.
The inner airlock opened with a soft hiss.
“Step through,” Austin said. “The observation room has negative pressure. You don’t want the spray following us in. That degreaser will take the color out of your clothes.”
The quartz doors closed behind them. The seals inflated, locking the booth with a click.
On the other side of the glass, five hundred muddy cultivators charged down the hall. Blood-sabers, bone pikes, and skull talismans dripped filth onto the floor.
Several disciples stared at the bright walls as they ran.
“White jade tiles!”
“Pry up the spirit crystals!”
“The ceiling nozzles are opening! The First Gods will bless us with sacred nectar!”
Xie led the charge with his saber pointed at the glass.
“KILL THE PEASANT! SEIZE THE ARTIFACTS! BREAK THE BARRIER!”
KRRRRR-SLAM!
The outer blast doors closed behind them.
The pressure change hit the mob like a runaway cart. Men skidded on their own mud and crashed into one another. Disciples fell over elders. Spears punched through leather armor. Curses in six dialects echoed from the walls.
Xie crawled out of the pile. “A sealing array! Form the Blood-Sea Phalanx! Hack through the walls!”
An amber strobe flashed overhead. A smooth voice spoke through the ceiling speakers.
Xie looked up. “What forbidden curse is that?”
Four hundred spray heads dropped from the ceiling and locked into place.
Stage One began.
HISSSSSS!
High-pressure jets drenched the intruders with hot foam: hydrogen peroxide, lye, and lemon-scented degreaser.
No heavenly lightning. No sword array. Just industrial soap at five hundred PSI, delivered like a fire hose.
One young disciple opened his mouth to drink the sacred nectar. A jet of lye and citrus foam shot straight down his throat. He fell to his knees, coughing bubbles.
“IT IS NOT NECTAR! IT IS CAUSTIC SOAP!”
“MY EYES! MY DANTIAN!”
“WHY DOES THE WATER SMELL LIKE ORANGES?”
“SENIOR BROTHER, MY SKIN IS SQUEAKING!”
The Blood-Nether disciples had spent decades building shields from corpse blood, grave mold, and rancid fat. The degreaser tore those shields apart. Centuries of accumulated filth slid off their bodies and foamed across the floor.
“NO! MY THREE-HUNDRED-YEAR CORPSE-RUST SHIELD!” an elder shrieked. “I FERMENTED THAT SLIME IN A MASS GRAVE! MY DAO IS GOING DOWN THE DRAIN!”
Before the blinded men could regain their footing, Stage Two began.
BZZZZZT-VUMMMMM!
Powerful magnets behind the ceiling switched on.
Every piece of iron and steel in the hall flew upward. Swords, armor, belt buckles, boot plates, and nose rings all went at once.
CLATTER-CLANG!
“MY SABER!”
“MY BELT!”
“MY TONGUE STUD IS PULLING MY JAW OFF!”
Two elders hung from the ceiling by their iron-studded codpieces, their bare legs kicking.
Xie’s black-dragon armor tore from his body and slammed against a ceiling plate.
In half a heartbeat, the invasion force lost its weapons, armor, and most of its clothes. Five hundred men tumbled through the suds in wet hemp underwear.
Xie sat in six inches of lemon foam. The terror of the Western Barrens was now a skinny, shivering young man in pink silk boxers patterned with peonies.
Then Stage Three began.
WHOOOOOSH!
Cyclone blowers opened beneath the floor grates. Hot air roared through the hall at one hundred and fifty miles an hour.
The soapy intruders had no traction. The gale lifted them, spun them like laundry, and rolled them down the hall.
THUD-CRASH-THUD!
All five hundred landed in a clean, deodorized heap against the outer door.
BEEP.
The strobes stopped. The lights returned to a quiet hum. The air smelled of lemon, clean linen, and ozone.
Behind the quartz window, Austin checked his watch.
“Forty-two seconds, under a forty-five-second limit. Full wash, metal recovery, and almost no residue.” He nodded with genuine approval. “Good nozzle coverage. Proper drain slope. No water pooling in the corners. Whoever designed this knew the job.”
Xiaoyao pressed his face to the glass. “Master, the sacred pool washed away three hundred years of demonic sin in forty breaths!”
“It washed away body odor, lice, and unregistered metal. Walk into a cleanroom smelling like a grease fire, you get hosed down. Basic plant policy.”
Xiaoyao looked back at the outer gate. The lanes he had cleared were still open. “At least nobody else will be pushed inside.”
“Good work out there,” Austin said. “You saw the problem before it reached us.”
Pug sniffed the warm air from a dryer vent and sneezed with all three heads. His coat puffed out until he looked like an eight-hundred-pound dandelion.
Young Master Xie slid down the inside of the quartz door. He was spotless, shivering, and smelled strongly of lemon wax.
He tried to summon his natal demonic flame. The degreaser had coated his spiritual channels. Instead of black fire, he produced one shimmering soap bubble.
It floated up and popped against his nose.
Xie stared at Austin through the glass, clutching his peony boxers.
Austin gave him a polite nod.
“Keep your passes visible. Janitor comes through on Tuesdays. Don’t touch the brass fixtures.”
He turned and led Xiaoyao and Pug toward the main concourse of Underground Vault 04.
The moment his boots crossed the next threshold, the iron floor grates began to hum.