The situation had passed the point of being critical.
It was absurd.
Trafalgar cut down twenty.
Forty replaced them.
The exchange rate made no sense. Every corridor he opened was swallowed within seconds, every body that fell replaced by two more stepping out of the rifts. This was no longer a battle of endurance or positioning. It was arithmetic turning hostile.
He drove Maledicta forward again, the blade piercing through the chest of a humanoid before he ripped it free and split a Void Hound mid-leap without even turning his head.
Another wave surged.
Another gap closed.
'Tch… how much longer can that void creature keep this shit up? There has to be a fucking limit.'
He refused to believe there wasn't a cost. The intelligent one had to be forcing the rifts, sustaining them through its own power or focus.
There had to be a ceiling.
