The diamond floor plates of the amphitheater groaned under sudden, crushing gravity.
On the central stage, twelve hydraulic pillars rose from the subterranean vaults, hoisting a massive sarcophagus forged from nine layers of magnetic lead. Thick starlight chains pulsed with warning runes around the perimeter, struggling to contain the immense gravitational field radiating from within.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The heavy lead locks disengaged one by one.
The lid of the sarcophagus slid open by three inches.
A thin, blinding beam of black-and-silver sword-light shot straight through the roof of the Citadel, punching a clean hole through the diamond moon’s atmospheric dome!
The terrifying pressure of an unsheathed neutron star rolled across ten miles of tiered seating. Thousands of minor aristocrats collapsed against their armrests, gasping for breath as their personal protective jade pendants shattered from the ambient sword-intent. The air in the rotunda grew heavy and cold, warped by gravitational shear waves that bent the crystal light in bizarre spirals.
Lord Varn stood behind an armored force-field bunker, speaking through an emergency megaphone with chattering teeth.
