The transition this time wasn't a stretch or a snap, it was a heavy, metallic thud that reverberated straight through the soles of my boots.
As the light of the teleportation circle died down, I wasn't greeted by a swamp or a void, but by the cold, oppressive interior of a massive subterranean cathedral made entirely of reinforced, matte-black iron.
The architecture was industrial and suffocating. Towering pillars of dark metal rose into a ceiling lost in a haze of yellow sulfurous fog, connected by thick, pulsing copper conduits and vertical cooling fins that hissed with escaping steam. The air here was thick—not with pressure, but with a fine metallic dust that tasted like old pennies and ozone. Every breath felt like I was inhaling iron filings, and a low-frequency hum rippled through the floor, settling into my joints like lead.
