The narrow stone bridgehead jutting across the southern deep gap shuddered beneath a titanic crash of steel and golden flame.
Tie Shan stood with his back to a jagged spur of black granite, his heavy iron warhammer planted head-down against the flat stone slabs. His chest heaved in ragged, violent gasps, sending thick plumes of white vapor into the freezing mountain gale.
Across the front of his mountain-forged iron breastplate, deep scoring grooves glowed with dull crimson heat where sky axe-spears had grazed the heavy plates. His knuckles were raw, split open down to the white sheen of tendon. It was bound with fraying strips of oilcloth that were sodden with his own dark blood.
Around him on the shattered stones lay five golden armored figures, their sky plate crumpled and caved in by blunt striking force. Golden fluid—the man-made spiritual coolant of sky constructs—pooled in the stone cracks. It steamed furiously in the sub-zero air.
Seven judges remained.
They circled Tie Shan with deliberate, hungry caution, their golden robes fluttering in the wind. Their faces were hidden behind polished golden masks that reflected the violet sky. Their hands gripped polearms tipped with crackling, condensed solar fire.
The lead judge raised his axe-spear, his voice echoing across the deep gap like brass bells.
