The ruin convulsed as if the bones of the earth themselves had begun to crack.
A thunderous groan rolled beneath their feet, and fissures webbed across the flagstones, splitting them like glass. From the ritual circle where the cultist knelt, the ground split wider, bleeding fog as though the mist itself were alive. Above, the sky churned. The fog collapsed inward, dragged into a vortex that spun faster and faster until stones, splintered beams, and even weapons abandoned by fleeing men were ripped from the ground and swallowed into its heart.
Leo staggered backward, his shard-blade clenched in trembling hands. His chest burned; each breath tasted of iron, thick with the copper tang of blood. The Revenant before him was no longer whole, it writhed, its body shattering under forces unseen. The fused faces stretched wide, jaws snapping open until bone cracked, as if something inside clawed to tear its way out.
