The air began to ripple like a lake surface after a stone was cast, waves spreading out in layers. The ruins, scorched earth, and corpses before his eyes twisted and blurred like crumpled drawing paper.
Then, everything came to a halt.
Adam looked around.
"Tragic."
That was the first and only word that surfaced in his mind.
Thick smoke rose from all directions—black, gray, and occasionally an unnatural pale green—gathering into rolling clouds beneath the vault of heaven. The sound of artillery drifted from the distance, dull and continuous, like the heartbeat of a giant.
The air was thick with the smell of char, blood, and something more pungent and indescribable—perhaps the residue of thaumaturgic overload, or the essence of a destroyed anomaly.
Corpses. There were corpses everywhere. Some wore civilian clothes, curled up beneath the wreckage of buildings; some wore strange robes, still clutching staves or ceremonial tools even as their bodies were severed at the waist; some were clearly not human—heads with multiple eyes, limbs covered in scales, skeletons twisted like pretzels—they lay in pools of blood, never to move again.
Adam stopped walking. He remembered the original appearance of this city.
The styles of the West and East Coasts were interwoven; European steeples stood alongside Eastern flying eaves. The skyline was dotted with countless bizarre structures, masterpieces of anomalous artists, each challenging the limits of aesthetics. When it rained in this city, water fell from the misty sky only to change color the moment it touched the ground—azure, crimson, flecked gold... as if the sky itself were a living canvas.
And the music never stopped. Countless melodies played simultaneously, yet due to anomalous effects, they never interfered with one another. You could clearly hear your favorite tune while other sounds faded away, moved from your ears by a gentle force.
All those things that enchanted the soul. Now, they were all gone. War had swallowed them, just as fire swallows paper.
Adam took a deep breath and began to move. The feet of the Hunting Rig stepped over broken rubble, every stride steady and swift. His speed increased until he was practically flying over the ruins.
"Cawl."
"I am here."
"Release the reconnaissance drones. Scan the area. I need to know where there are survivors, where there is resistance, and where there are—Foundation troops."
The mechanical skull vibrated slightly, and several small black shadows flew from within it, disappearing into the thick smoke.
Just then, a flash of light erupted before Adam's eyes. He snapped to a halt. The flash was clearly not a thaumaturgic attack but a warning—a sign that a detection spell had been triggered.
The Hunting Rig's sensor systems entered combat mode instantly. Faint light shimmered at the joints of the power armor. Adam became like a predator coiled to strike, ready to lunge at his target.
A figure rushed out from behind the ruins. It was a man. He wore what was once an expensive suit, now covered in dust and blood. His eyes were exhausted to the extreme, sunken and bloodshot; he clearly hadn't slept in a long time. Though his movements were quick, they carried a stiffness stretched to the limit—the posture of someone in a state of high tension for too long.
The man looked up and saw Adam's bizarre suit of armor. "Who are you?!" His voice was raspy but carried a strange weight. His right hand was raised, fingertips glowing faintly—a sign of an imminent thaumaturgic activation. "Who are you?!"
Adam looked at him and answered calmly, "Just a traveler from another universe." His tone was casual, as if discussing the weather. "...It seems things in your universe aren't looking too good."
Cawl hovered by Adam's side, the processors inside the mechanical skull nearly overloading. Was this really okay? Telling the truth, word for word? Would the opponent really believe such an absurd fact?
Then, Cawl saw the middle-aged man freeze for a moment and then nod. There was shock, but no doubt, and not even much of a change in expression, as if he were long accustomed to such fantastical origins.
"Not lying..." the man muttered to himself, the vigilance in his eyes relaxing slightly. "Which organization are you with? Forget it, as long as you aren't one of those jailers, it's fine." He paused, staring at the armor, and raised his voice: "My name is Tyler Bryson. I am a thaumaturge. My second question is—what is your purpose here?" [Note 1]
"I'm here to see if there's anything I can help with, of course," Adam said. "As for the reason... you can think of it as me coming from the Three Portlands of another universe."
Tyler's eyebrows twitched, but that was all. "In that case, hurry up and help." He turned and left immediately, acting with lightning speed. "We need to transport the residents out of here."
He moved incredibly fast, his footsteps barely stirring the dust on the ruins, moving like a flickering shadow. Adam followed, his speed just as impressive.
"Where can they go?"
"Who knows?" Tyler replied without looking back. "Different people have different destinations. Just not in this city." As he moved, he added impatiently: "If nothing else works, we'll just find a pocket dimension to settle them in for now. Those jailers have gone mysteriously mad this time. I don't understand why. [Expletive], for the first time in my life, those Bookburners actually look handsome to me!"
"By the way—" Adam spoke. "Since that's the case, do you know where the Foundation people are? In a situation like this, wouldn't it be easier to just catch one and ask?"
"I'd advise against that," Tyler sighed. "Unless you're confident you can handle their kill-memes." His voice betrayed a deep exhaustion. "Besides, those people have changed a lot. I don't know what happened to them—their eyes look like they have no souls, completely lifeless. It's eerie. Like..."
He didn't finish his sentence. A blinding flash erupted before them. As the light faded, figures appeared.
"Heads up, it's a Thaumic Manifestation!" Tyler shouted, his body tensing instantly.
The figures stood rigid on the ruins. They wore uniforms Adam knew all too well—Foundation Mobile Task Forces. But now, those uniforms were covered in dust and blood, worn by these people as if they were draped over corpses. They were silent, motionless, like dolls.
Their arms... had been modified. Their forearms had become sharp blades that glinted coldly in the firelight. It wasn't metal, but a bizarre structure of bone and flesh, yet the edges were sharper than any blade.
Then, they looked up at Adam and Tyler. Those eyes were devoid of life, containing only a hollow void.
"They're Blinkers!" Tyler yelled.