The boundary of the minor constellation dissolved like slag dropping away from a freshly pulled blade. There was the Void-Galleon simply grunted as its heavy timbers crossed into a reality that felt thick, metallic, and hot enough to make the spit hiss on the floorboards. The copper-tinted twilight of the fortification was replaced instantly by a sky of solid, unyielding brass that reflected a low, dark red glare from below. Oceans of thick, boiling red fluid cut through vast ranges of black iron fortress walls that stretched out into the horizons, rising and falling like the teeth of a rusted saw.
The ship slid forward through the heavy air, its hull collecting a dark, greasy film that smelled entirely of iron shavings and old tallow.
[Synchronization: 86.5%]
[Level: 138]
