The massive brass door at the end of the corridor was not a lock; it was a vault interface.
Complex brass gearwork and glass capillary tubes were embedded directly into the iron-reinforced oak, spiraling inward toward a heavy, central dial. Pale violet fluid seeped through the glass tubes, pulsing in time with the faint, pneumatic hum echoing from the cavernous space beyond.
Inquisitor Roth stepped up to the portal, the tip of his blood-stained broadsword scraping against the wet flagstones. He slammed his leather-gloved fist against the brass casing, but the metal barely vibrated.
"Pursuivants, bring up the heavy iron wedges," Roth commanded, his breath misting in the sudden, plummeting cold. "We breach it now."
"Wedges will only crack the frame and seal the pressure locks, Inquisitor
