The underground air smelled of pure ozone, clean rainwater, and warm brass.
Across the five-mile vault of the Underground Akashic Archives, the green glow of the ten thousand emerald server steles lit up the silent central stone stand.
There was no sound in the cave save for the quiet dripping of distilled water from the cleaned stalactites.
Seventy Grandmasters and Pavilion Master Ren Qingzi slowly approached the central stone stand on trembling legs, their hands clasped in front of their chests as if approaching the holiest inner sanctum of the gods.
Standing in the center of the star-bronze pipe hub was Scribe Lord Mo Sha.
The horrific monster of ink, wraiths, and rotting bile had vanished fully.
In its place stood a life-sized, twelve-foot-tall, breathtakingly ornate statue of solid, gleaming yellow metal.
Every crease of his funeral shroud, every strand of his hair, every demonic curve of his horns, and every contour of his snarling, open-mouthed defiance had been preserved with tiny, atom-by-atom care.
