Lucian stepped into the fight without raising his voice.
The Outer God turned toward him first, sensing the shift. Its form rippled, dark matter coiling tighter, half-formed faces twisting across its surface. Marc was still holding a gravity well in place with blood running from his nose. Silas stood a few paces ahead, one arm hanging wrong, chest heaving, residual energy crackling weakly around his fists.
Lucian glanced at them once.
"Step back."
Marc hesitated. "Lucian—"
"Now."
Silas wiped blood from his mouth and gave a short, tired laugh. "Yeah. Fine. He's got that look."
They pulled away.
The Outer God lunged.
Lucian didn't move until the last moment. Then space folded around him, and he was simply elsewhere—behind the creature, hand already raised. He pressed his palm against the shifting mass of its back. The Outer God convulsed. Its form began to unravel from the point of contact, dark matter dissolving into pale ash that the wind carried away.
