The countdown reached zero.
And the world broke.
Space folded inward, not violently, but decisively, like reality itself was being shut and reopened somewhere else. There was a brief, suffocating compression, followed by the sensation of being dragged through a narrow point that refused to stretch, refused to accommodate.
Then as Bruce's boots struck solid ground.
The teleportation circle beneath his feet flared once, ancient runes blazing to life before dimming into nothingness. Residual light scattered outward like dying embers, lingering for a heartbeat longer before fading completely.
Velmora.
He was back.
Bruce inhaled sharply as gravity asserted itself in full. Heavier. Denser. The world pressed down on him in a way the Nether never had. Mana saturated the air here, thick, abundant, aggressive, pressing against his skin, flooding his lungs, vibrating through his bones. It was loud. Alive. Relentless.
For half a second, his balance wavered.
Then he steadied.
