The siren was a physical blow.
It shrieked at a hum that shook the iron pins in Lin Ke’s broken collarbone. It sent rhythmic stabs of agony into his shoulder. Across the underground vault, bronze vents high on the walls hissed open, spewing thick plumes of pale, sickly green vapor that coiled toward the floor like striking serpents.
Nine-Yin Searing Mist.
The gas carried the stench of sulfur and decomposing lead. It was a heavy, skin-burning neurotoxin used to purge contaminated training chambers. A single lungful would dissolve human mucosal membranes and coat spirit vein channels in a crystal-clear stone melted rock waste.
“The doors are down!” Meng Shan bellowed over the siren, slamming both fists against the three-foot-thick iron drop-gate sealing the stairwell.
The heavy metal slab didn’t even vibrate.
From the central ceiling shaft, a deep clockwork rumble shook the mountain. A huge gold-trimmed elevator platform, suspended by eight braided steel cables, was dropping from the peak.
Standing on the platform, his white robes billowing in the updraft, was Grand Elder Feng Xuan.
