The rabbit-man's pristine white finger moved toward the center of Luthra's chest. The movement carried the weight of inevitability, like a falling rock or the sun setting.
Luthra couldn't move, couldn't fight. He watched death approach one fingertip at a time.
The finger touched his skin and passed through like he was made of mist. It sank into his chest, hunting for the paradox living in his core, eager to taste whatever anomaly waited inside.
The universe answered.
The rabbit-man's polite smile vanished. Pure shock replaced it. He had expected to find a soul, some power to grasp and sample. Instead his finger touched a chasm. Absolute emptiness that didn't resist but pulled.
Not a gentle tug. The crushing gravity of a black hole.
"What is this?!" The creature's cultured voice cracked into panic. It tried pulling its hand back. Too late. The connection was made.
