The roof of Mount Lingxiao cracked like an eggshell.
Three thousand feet above the underground forge, Grand Ancestor Kuang’s main avatar struck the mountain’s peak with a single, downward palm strike forged of tightly packed black lightning. Fifty million tons of air pressure collided with the sect’s outer wards.
The bone-shaking blast wave traveled down through the mountain’s granite spine at five miles per second.
In Sub-Vault Four, the ceiling dropped six inches of loose rock and crushed quartz in a blinding avalanche. Huge chunks of jagged flaky rock hammered down into the gloom. It smashed against the stone floor like cannonballs.
Apothecary He dove beneath a heavy oak workbench, curling his thin body over his wooden chest of medicines as stone fragments peppered his back. “The mountain root is buckling!” He roared through a mouth full of quartz dust. “If the ceiling drops another arm-length, you’ll be squashed into red paste on that anvil!”
Inside Lin Ke’s nervous system, an emergency crisis triggered instantly.
The split-brain crisis had arrived in production.
Faced with the falling tons of granite, Node 0 (Flesh) registered the moving threat and reflexively tried to drop into a crouch, lock the Ashen Iron skeleton, and absorb the impact.
