The distance between them was still massive, but the act itself mattered. The pressure corridor resisted him immediately, each step forward requiring exponentially more effort. Cain leaned into it, muscles screaming as he forced momentum through an environment actively hostile to motion.
Eidwyrm came up in a two-handed grip despite the damage to his arm. He roared—not for intimidation, not for drama—but to force air into his lungs and keep his body moving.
The blade struck the pressure corridor.
This time, it didn't rebound.
The impact tore a ragged opening through the compressed space, sending violent distortions rippling outward. The corridor wavered, destabilized, then collapsed entirely in a concussive implosion that flattened what remained of the surrounding terrain.
