The posture of the twelve golden rings overhead produced a sound like a thousand bronze bells ringing all at once. Their sound waves shook through the dark rock floor until the mortar between the stones began to powder into gray dust.
A choking canopy of golden light dropped from the ceiling, pinning the air with thousands of pounds of air pressure.
Tie Shan’s knees bent slightly under the sudden weight, his iron-shod boots biting into the stone. His jaw clenched, but his spine remained fully upright. The fourteen-pound star-iron pry-bar was locked across his chest like an iron-hard shield. The giant took three deep, measured breaths through his nose, his lungs expanding against the crushing weight of the dropping field with the stubborn endurance of an iron bellows.
“This air is heavy,” Tie Shan grunted, refusing to yield an inch.
“It’s a static-electric squeezing field,” Lin Tao said, his voice steady despite the sharp ache streaming through his ears. “Don’t fight it with raw muscle. Breathe through your chest muscle and keep your balance point anchored over your heels. The pressure is artificial. It’s generated by power-coil plates lining the ceiling ribs.”
Lin Tao adjusted the focus of his augmented eye, zooming in on the heart of the rotating rings.
