He dove in, feeling the last vestiges of a binding formation snap and tear as he escaped its grasp.
He crawled through the confined space, the coarse rock scraping against his skin, the stale air thick with dust. He felt the power of the archive receding behind him, a furious, frustrated roar of energy.
He burst out into a desolate, subterranean cavern, far below the main archive. The air here was cleaner, colder, free from the oppressive Qi Surgawi. He stood, panting, his body trembling with exhaustion, his white hair plastered to his pale, sweating face. The black veins on his arms pulsed visibly.
He looked at the scroll fragment in his hand. It was brittle, charred at the edges, but the central diagram and accompanying text, though faded, were still legible. The blueprint of the Pill
