"No. No matter what you do, don't stop," Adam snapped, his face hardening. "If you trip—use your token. I don't care how tough you think you are. Don't get caught."
As if summoned by his words, the sound behind them deepened—a guttural rumble that vibrated through the bones of the bridge. The air grew thick, crackling with electric tension.
The storm was a monstrous, churning mass of black cloud streaked with jagged veins of white-hot lightning. Its maw—jagged, gaping, impossibly wide—yawned open as if to swallow the world whole. And it was chasing them.
Not drifting. Not meandering like some idle tempest.
It hunted with purpose.
The eight remaining contestants sprinted across the Divine Bridge, a vast expanse of cracked crystal and fractured marble suspended over a void that defied comprehension.
