Smoke hung low over the broken plain.
Marc wiped blood from his mouth and kept moving. The ground beneath him shifted with every step, cracked stone and scorched earth trying to hold shape under the pressure of something that did not belong here. Above them, the sky had torn open in three places, jagged rifts bleeding pale light across the battlefield. Hunters from this world's local guilds had already fled or fallen. The ones still standing kept their distance, watching from ruined walls and shattered gate remnants.
Silas slammed into the Outer God's side hard enough to send a shockwave through the air. The impact cracked the creature's outer layer, black ichor spraying across the dirt. It staggered, then retaliated with a sweep of elongated limbs that carved trenches through the ground. Silas took the hit across the ribs, skidded, and came up grinning through bloodied teeth.
"Still standing," he called.
