The outer wall lay in ruins behind them, chunks of obsidian scattered like broken teeth. Noah flexed his fingers, void energy still crackling around his knuckles from the null strike that had punched through three feet of reinforced volcanic glass.
Before them stretched the Second Ring—a nightmare of architectural impossibility.
The corridors were carved from the same black volcanic glass as the outer walls, but here the material had been shaped into curves that hurt to follow with the eye. The floor sloped down at a fifteen-degree angle for twenty feet, then abruptly leveled out before rising again. Walls met at angles that weren't quite ninety degrees, creating spaces that felt simultaneously too narrow and too wide.
