The dome shrouding Pipi Castle was golden, pure and dazzling. Yet inside Pipi Castle, it was a murky gray, the sky's original color indistinguishable, dim like the pitch-black heavens before a storm breaks.
And beneath this dark Sky Dome stretched a floor paved with reinforced concrete, along with rows upon rows of pointed houses shaped like Pyramids.
Let's temporarily call them Pyramid houses.
The quality of these Pyramid houses was clearly distinguishable: the inferior ones were cobbled together from metal plates, gaudy in color; the slightly better ones had bodies of pure metal, without a single patch.
Different materials, different sizes, yet the one thing all Pyramid houses shared was the pointed tip—the chimney—where the same billowing, thick smoke poured out.
Even separated by several hundred meters, Angel could smell the outrageously choking metallic tang in the smoke.
