And behind them was death.
Real, ravenous death.
One moment, the storm had stalked behind them like a looming specter. The next, it lunged forward without warning—its speed doubling in a blink, its hunger evident, collapsing the distance between predator and prey in an instant.
Alex felt it before he saw it.
A pressure—deep and primal—pressed against his chest like an invisible hand. The air thinned. His lungs fought to expand. His senses screamed a warning, and still, the fear came too slow.
Then he turned.
And saw it.
The storm had closed the gap.
A monstrous wall of roiling black, streaked with veins of electric white. At its heart, a jagged mouth yawned wider with every pulse, as if the sky itself had cracked open and grown hungry. It didn't move—it devoured space, each surge pulling at the world around it.
