Beyond the bone-ash shallows, the raised stone road climbed a gentle slope of dark red stone, leading into an underground hall so huge that Lin Tao’s aimed lantern couldn’t locate the walls.
Here, in the cold heart of the Netherworld, stood the processing farm of the cosmos.
Ninety-nine massive stone pillars of pure, polished black glass rose from the polished stone floor, each pillar fifty paces in width and soaring hundreds of feet into the vaulted cave ceiling. They stood in eleven care rows of nine, arranged with exact exactness that defied any natural formation. Running between the bases of the pillars were sunken canals carved from white marble. He carried steady streams of purified liquid silver that glowed with a faint, silvery soft glow. The air smelled sharply of ozone, cold slate, and bitter metal filings.
Lin Tao halted at the base of the first pillar, resting his scarred palm against the black stone.
The black glass was ice-cold, perfectly smooth, and shaking with a barely noticeable a deep hum. As he focused his left eye, the test array pierced the surface polish. He showed the true nature of the monuments. The inside of the pillar was etched with billions of tiny, tiny crystal-clear grooves arranged in tube-shaped tracks. It glowed with pale-green glowing trails.
