The crimson glare of the sky hung heavily over the Celestial Hall, casting long, blood-red shadows across the white marble floor. Above, the churning clouds rippled with the slow, undulating movement of the purple alchemy lightning snakes.
They did not strike with destructive fury; instead, they coiled lazily around the upper spires of the hall, their electrical tongues crackling in a rhythmic, ancient harmony that perfectly synchronized with the deep-vibrations of Tony Clark's Sovereign Void Cauldron.
The intense thermal compression radiating from the black dragon-bone furnace had turned the immediate testing platform into a shifting pool of liquid granite. Yet, inside his individual light barrier, Tony remained perfectly still. His posture was the absolute definition of unhurried nonchalance. His right hand casually rested on the sleek, runic rim of the cauldron, while his left remained tucked deeply within the pocket of his dark hunting cloak.
