The world Cain crashed into was still shuddering from the last ripple of his return. Dust rolled in waves across the fractured plateau, settling over broken spires of stone that jutted out like exposed ribs. The air hummed with the residue of whatever force had ripped him out of the dimensional seam and thrown him here, but Cain didn't waste a second trying to understand it. His instincts shoved him forward.
Because something was watching him.
Cain straightened, brushing gravel from his palms, eyes narrowing as the horizon buckled. Not metaphorically — it physically folded, like a sheet of metal bending under heat. A roar followed, not loud, but deep, resonating through the ground and up his legs like a warning rumble.
Cain exhaled once.
"Great," he muttered. "Another one."
The horizon snapped inward.
