The rotten-egg air of the fiery forge seemed to freeze into solid glass. Lin Xiao turned his blue jelly-like mass toward the central anvil.
On the flat iron-hard metal block, surrounded by the powdery gray leftovers of Tie Shan’s shattered greatsword and crushed hammer, lay the thumb-sized shard of void beetle back shell. It rested in the center of the devastation, cold, silent, and faintly shaking with that unnatural, reality-eroding static that made the surrounding air warp like heat rising from summer asphalt.
Lin Xiao gave a small, elastic hop, landing squarely upon the lip of the anvil with a soft, rubbery plop.
“Lord Xiao! Step back! In the name of the ancestors, don’t approach it!”
A chorus of wild, scared shouts erupted from the forty master smiths gathered around the chamber. Elder Yan Chuan, who had fled from the western ridge and was resting against a water trough with wrapped ribs, leaped forward in sheer panic, throwing out his hands as if to tackle the little blue slime out of harm’s way.
“Patriarch Lin, no!” Yan Chuan screamed, his voice cracking with desperate hysteria. “That’s the touch of total ruin! It eats divine star-steel! It unweaves the sacred laws of heaven! Even ninth-tier dragon blood dissolves into chalk upon touching it! If your physical vessel touches that static, your training will be erased down to the empty pocket!”
