The Gate of Eight Worlds

Chapter 22:The Crucible Spire

The golden wave of sun-fire erupted across the canyon, bathing the dark basalt walls in a blinding burst of light. Two steam-drakes caught in the core of the blast shrieked as their internal pressure tubes ruptured, sending them spiraling down into the river of liquid iron below.

Princess Rose let fly a rapid succession of steel-tipped shafts, each finding the unshielded neck joints of the diving beasts. Above them, Barnaby swept through the thermal updrafts, his golden wings cutting through the smoke as he slammed his massive claws into the leader of the roost, throwing it off course before it could strike the main transport cable.

Alex threw his weight against the hand-winch, cranking the heavy iron lever until the gondola slammed into the stone landing platform on the northern bank.

Dwaho, Natasha, Rose, and Caleb scrambled out onto the solid basalt ridge, drawing their weapons as Alex leapt from the winch platform, landing lightly beside them. Barnaby banked sharply, diving through the sulfur clouds to land on the wide stone terrace behind them, his golden feathers speckled with dark ash.

Before them rose the Crucible Spire.

Up close, the monolithic fortress was staggering in scale. Its walls were forged from interlocking plates of solid, riveted black iron that stretched over two thousand feet into the bruised, red-veined sky. Massive brass pipes ran up the length of the structure like giant arteries, pulsing with superheated steam and molten ore. At the base of the spire, a set of colossal iron gates stood cracked open, spewing thick clouds of dark soot into the sulfurous gale.

"The main entrance is unguarded," Caleb observed, keeping his hatchet drawn as he surveyed the perimeter. "Vane’s remaining garrison must have pulled back inside the lower foundries."

"They aren't retreating," Dwaho said, his eyes glowing with electric-blue light as he stared at the base of the fortress. Through his Sight, he could see the massive ley-lines of the Obsidian Wastes being forced through a central conversion chamber deep within the spire. "They're redirecting every ounce of power from the Third Key Shard into the core furnace. If that pressure reaches critical mass, it will ignite the entire volcanic ley-network beneath the ash-plains."

"Then we end this now," Queen Natasha said, stepping toward the open iron doors.

The party crossed the threshold into the lower foundry of the Crucible Spire. The interior was a cavernous hall of black steel and roaring blast furnaces. Giant mechanical hammers beat against iron anvils with rhythmic, thunderous impacts that rattled the floor plates, while channels of liquid brass flowed through open gutters in the stone.

At the far end of the grand foundry, elevated on a high platform above the central magma pit, sat the Third Key Shard.

It was a jagged, eight-inch spire of deep ruby crystal, locked inside an iron containment sphere that hummed with terrifying power. Surrounding the pedestal stood four high-tier automaton overseers, their brass grates burning with crimson light as their steam-driven joints hissed in unison.

Standing before the pedestal was a tall figure clad in dark, ornate plate armor, holding a heavy brass rod that tapped against the iron deck.

"Welcome, High Keepers," a harsh, echoing voice called out over the thundering hammer-blows. "You are just in time to witness the forging of the Eternal Gate."