The Foundry District was the embodiment of a mechanical hell created by human greed. Here, deep within the lowest layers of Onyxspire's vertical structure, the air was no longer a gas fit for organic lungs. The atmosphere was thick with coal dust, microscopic iron shards, and sulfur vapor that burned the eyes red. The ceiling of the district was the underside of the upper sectors, a gigantic steel plate that constantly leaked black lubricant oil, creating an endless drizzle that smelled of rust. THUD! THUD! THUD! The pounding roar of massive steam compressors echoed every three seconds, shaking the foundations of the ground and the bone marrow of everyone standing upon it. Along the narrow streets flooded with black sludge, smelting furnaces the size of five-story buildings spewed streams of molten orange steel, illuminating the hollow faces of thousands of forced laborers. They moved like zombies, their bodies skeletal and their coughing relentless. Most wore cheap st