Back in the dimension inside the artifact, the connection to the outside world made the situation terrifyingly clear.
The push of gravity on Isylia strengthened. It was no longer just a tug; it was a violent expulsion, a cosmic heave as the universe tried to vomit out a foreign body.
Isylia stopped her proclamation mid-sentence. Her glowing hair whipped upward, drawn toward the crack in the dimension. She looked up, and through the fissure, she saw the sky of Ossuaria turning that apocalyptic red.
Her divine arrogance vanished, replaced by a look of genuine horror.
"No!" Isylia yelled, her voice losing its ethereal echo and returning to a panicked shout. "No! Not already! I just got my powers back! I haven't even stretched properly yet.!"
Sol, anchored to the floor by his own mysterious weight, looked up in confusion. He saw her feet lifting off the obsidian ground. She was being dragged upward by an invisible hook.
