From the ceiling descended a dozen crystal shards, arranging themselves in a rotating orb. Lines of mana shot between them, sketching a 3-D model of Stratum -27: twisting ramps, pulsing mana-veins, hollows shaped like wounded hearts. The image spun, froze, magnified on a pinpoint of crimson. Variants leaned closer; even the Slimeweave's surface stilled, ripples arrested mid-pulse.
Murmurs rustled across pheromone channels: anticipation, disciplined hunger, a flash of competitive pride. Rodion sensed every nuance. He adjusted the projection twice, exposing cross-sections, annotating fault lines with narrow white glyphs.
