The Bottom of the World – The Red Pit
The air was thick.
Not heavy. Thick. Like it had been marinating in dread and unwashed feet for the last thousand years.
Adam stood at the edge of the pit, arms crossed, his white cloak slightly scorched at the edges, probably from that unfortunate encounter with the sentient cactus a few hills back. He didn't say anything.
He just stared.
The pit in question wasn't just red. It glowed. Like angry fruit punch mixed with the lingering regret of seventeen failed marriages. It didn't flicker or pulse. It hummed. A low, nasty hum, like a mosquito whispering "you can't kill me" in your ear at night.
Dozens of cultivators stood nearby, all keeping a very respectful, totally not cowardly distance from the edge.
"Someone push him in," a voice whispered from the back.
Adam blinked.
The crowd stiffened.
He turned slowly.
