After the poisonous mist receded, only the scorched smell of cooled lava remained in the air. Chen Wuya leaned against a floating stone, his fingers pressed to the old wound by his ribs, breathing slowly. Mo Feng crawled over from behind, his face covered in ash, still clutching that mechanical shovel in his hand.
"Can you walk?" Mo Feng asked.
Chen Wuya did not answer. He merely raised his eyes toward the ceiling. A massive bronze gear hung there, embedded deep within the rock wall, its rim engraved with dense, intricate patterns. It had not moved while the poisonous mist churned, but now it began to turn slowly.
"When did this thing... appear?" His voice was somewhat hoarse.
Mo Feng looked up for several seconds, and his expression changed. "This is the heart of the mechanism formation. If it's moving, it means the structure below has already been activated."
No sooner had he spoken than the gear suddenly sped up. With a crack, the ground split open, lava surging out and dividing into two channels, each leading to a stone path on the left and right. Firelight reflected off the paths, casting a dim crimson glow.
A figure emerged from the shadows of the high platform, cloaked in black robes, with only one eye exposed, gleaming green.
"Little Mechanist." The man spoke, his voice like sandpaper scraping over stone. "You understand so many mechanisms—but do you understand your own fate?"
Mo Feng tightened his grip on the shovel. "You're from the Demonic Cult."
"An elder." The man chuckled softly. "I have guarded this level for a thousand years. I had no wish to show myself, but you blundered through all the way here and forced my hand."
Chen Wuya straightened slightly as Misaligned Force slowly circulated through his meridians. He