Chapter 12: Revelation

I froze for a second, then took off my glove and carefully touched the wall.

The surface was glassy, almost slick, and radiated a subtle warmth that made my skin crawl. It was too warm, too alive. It felt like touching the hood of a car that had just finished a cross-country drive—impossibly hot, humming with energy.

I jerked my hand back, heart pounding. Nothing in my training had prepared me for this.

I took out my geology hammer and tapped the wall.

The sound was wrong—sharp, metallic. It echoed, strange and hollow.

One tap, and I realized something strange:

The hammer barely left a mark. It was like hitting tempered glass or diamond.

Granite has a Mohs hardness of 6 to 7; obsidian, 5 to 5.5.

Even the hardest rocks I’d ever worked with would at least chip under this force.

But the wall of this cone mountain had a Mohs hardness of at least 9—even harder than tungsten steel alloy.

My mind raced—nothing on Earth was supposed to be this tough, this impenetrable.

Our core drill was long lost, so now we could only use brute force—hammering.

Danny’s swings got more frantic, his breaths coming in sharp bursts.

But after taking turns for ages, we couldn’t even make a dent.

I leaned against the wall, exhausted. My hammer was still pristine.

Danny tossed the hammer aside and sat down, panting:

"Mark, what on earth is this thing?"

His eyes darted from the wall to the sky, searching for answers.

I shook my head. "Never seen anything like it. It’s not metal, but it doesn’t look like stone, either."

Even saying it out loud sounded ridiculous. My geology textbooks were useless now.

Danny slapped the wall and joked, "Could it be man-made? Some kind of super-strong material? An alien spaceship?"

His laughter was forced, the kind you use when you’re scared out of your mind.

I laughed, "If it drilled up from underground, does that mean the aliens are escaping?"

The words hung in the air. I tried to grin, but my mouth felt dry.

But as soon as I said it, I froze.

Suddenly, a pattern clicked in my brain. Something about the shape, the smoothness, the impossible depth.

Ever since I’d first seen the cone mountain, something had felt off.

My gut screamed at me: this was no mountain. This was something else, something ancient and powerful.

A terrifying thought began to take shape in my mind.

I hesitated, voice trembling. Was I ready to say it out loud?

"Danny."

He turned, eyes wide. The bravado was gone—just two scientists alone at the bottom of the world.

I swallowed and spoke softly:

"You study earthquakes too. The Antarctic Plate can’t just squeeze out a mountain by itself, right?"

He nodded, silent. We both knew what the textbooks said—and this wasn’t it.

Seeing my serious expression, Danny stopped joking and replied:

"Right. And besides, Earth’s gravity wouldn’t allow a mountain over thirty thousand feet. Also..."

He trailed off, looking up at the impossible slope.

"Also..." I interrupted, "mountains formed by plate collisions are made of earth and stone. But this cone mountain looks more like a ‘naturally’ formed ‘giant stone,’ right?"

Danny nodded again, his eyes dark and troubled.

He traced a finger over the surface, as if hoping for some clue.

"So, the cone mountain was pushed out from inside the Earth by some force."

His voice was barely above a whisper. We both shivered, and not from the cold.

"A force so powerful, it drove the cone mountain straight through the Antarctic Plate."

The implications were terrifying. Nothing in recorded history, nothing in all of geology, could explain this.

I forced myself to voice my thoughts, cold sweat soaking my thermal underwear.

I remembered the data, the models, the impossible depth.

"Earthquake centers worldwide calculated that the focal depth of the 11/11 Antarctic earthquake was 430 miles."

I could see the numbers in my head, scrolling across the screen.

"That means the original position of the cone mountain was beneath the crust—maybe even in the mantle."

I let the words hang in the air, heavy as lead. If I was right, this changed everything. I looked at Danny, and for the first time, I saw real fear in his eyes—a fear that mirrored my own.