I reach the machine. It’s completely bloated now, bulging and warped, covered in a network of spider web-like cracks that glow with an eerie red light. It looks like it’s about to pop like an overfilled balloon. I examine the controls—they’re all melted into a useless, fused blob of metal. Okay, reversing this is officially off the table. Plan B it is, then.

How is this thing even still running? It looks like it should have turned off ages ago.

I glanced around the machine. Several thick straws plunged deep into the magma, and a massive, and a massive, frayed cable—clearly meant to lead somewhere—dangles uselessly. Probably to Dr. Keyser’s Lab.

Right. Plan B: sever the power source. I grip one of the tubes, which glows a furious red, practically vibrating with heat. A quick tug proved fruitless. I tried hauling on it, then resorted to punching and kicking it with all my might. It didn't budge an inch.

I feel so pathetically weak. If only I had more adamantine… I could transform into something stronger. The sea serpent from before would work. A pang of regret shoots through me. I really shouldn't have given all those adamantine bars to Bailey.

“Do you have any more ores?” I yell back at Rexy, hoping for a miracle.

Rexy shakes its head vigorously, giving me a look that clearly says, “You’re on your own with this one.”

After another futile attempt to yank the tube free from the magma, I stared into the molten pool and plunged my hand in. Nothing… I felt absolutely nothing, not even the warmth from the earlier trap. I feel as if I am sticking my hand into wet dough.

I scoop up a handful of magma. It’s surprisingly viscous, almost like thick honey. On another whim, I step onto the pool and stomp my foot. The moment I do, the liquid lava solidifies under my weight. A non-Newtonian fluid! How fascinating.

A daring, if slightly insane, idea begins to form. “I’m going down,” I announce to Rexy, a wide grin spreading across my face. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

Rexy shoots me a look of pure shock—mixed with a healthy dose of concern—as I jump into the magma.

So much for these clothes. They probably just disintegrated right about now.

Eyes closed, I keep my hands firmly on the tube as I slowly sink, deeper and deeper. It feels no different from sinking into a pool of water —well, more like a pool of honey. Not that I’m complaining. It’s surprisingly… pleasant.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

I reach the end of the tube, which is shaped like a massive anchor. No wonder I couldn’t pull it up! It’s practically designed to stay put. I sink below it, hoist the anchor above my head, and then, using my legs and feet, begin rapidly treading the viscous liquid below. It’s like trying to run in quicksand, but instead of sand, it’s… well, magma.

Just as I’d imagined, I start rising. Like climbing an invisible staircase, I push myself upward through the magma, stomping harder and faster with each “step.” This is a really intense stair-climber workout. I lose track of time until I finally burst back through the surface, sending a spray of molten rock everywhere and tossing the anchor onto a nearby solid rock with a satisfying thump.

Rexy bounded over, jumping excitedly and letting out a delighted “Arghhh!” as if giving me a standing ovation.

I glance at the remaining tubes and quickly get to work. One by one, I push the anchors up through the magma. With each successful retrieval, Rexy would jump and make more complimentary noises, like a hyperactive, prehistoric cheerleader. “Argh! Argh-argh! Arghhh!” It's quite the performance.

I almost expect her to start doing backflips.

It felt like eons before all the anchors were up.

Good thing I didn’t get tired in this body. My initial plan of a dramatic magma dive for a happy ending, however, was clearly not going to work out. Back to the drawing board.

Okay, the machine’s energy gathering seems to be slowing down. Progress! Now, I just need to relocate this potential meltdown machine to a safe disposal zone. Leaving it here is a bad idea. This whole area could become a lava lake, and if it decides to go critical again later… Well, who knows how long it would take for all that energy to dissipate? This thing is basically a molten time bomb.

But how am I supposed to move it? Rexy touching it is out of the question; she’d be a prehistoric chicken nugget before she could even say “Argh.” One step at a time, I guess… or rather, one centimeter at a time.

With all the anchors finally on solid ground, the machine’s base actually budges. I can move it! By pushing it along the ground, I manage to shift it… a couple of centimeters at a time.

Hey, progress is progress, even if it’s measured in millimeters.

“Rexy, which way to the bottom of the sea?” I ask her. She’s staring at the slowly inching machine with wide, awestruck eyes. “Just point me in the right direction and lead the way.”

It’s a good thing there’s solid ground to push this thing on. Too bad I couldn’t detach the anchors. The joints are practically fused to the machine, and the tubes? Forget about it. They’re way too strong for me to even think about snapping.

Slowly, painstakingly, I push the machine, centimeter by agonizing centimeter. Rexy, bless her massive heart, helps by digging a gently sloping path for me. She’s building a tiny ramp for a giant, molten snail. And so, we begin our epic, millimeter-by-millimeter journey toward the bottom of the sea.