The crimson rune on the brass console flashed, the numerals shifting with a dull, metallic click.
[56]
Relay-Warden Scythe’s chanting grew louder, bouncing off the damp basalt ceiling like a swarm of hornets.
The oily black mist around his twin sickles swelled, filling the grotto with the stench of stagnant tomb-water.
“Reap the marrow,” Scythe shouted, his yellow teeth bared in a wet, mocking grin. “Let the void drink their breath. In fifty heartbeats, the bells of Void Lotus will toll your funeral.”
Kaelen set his celadon teacup down on the iron railing of the walkway.
People who yell while they work are always compensating for poor time management.
If he spent half as much breath on proper cable maintenance, this grotto wouldn’t smell like rotting kelp.
