The instant Elias released his grip, space recoiled.
The arch shuddered violently. Fine sand spilled from between the bricks, whispering downward, yet the structure did not tilt further. The air snapped back like a bandage torn free, dragging a blade-cold gust through the nave.
Jeff's fist moved first.
As his punch cut through the air, the dust suspended around him froze in place.
When his knuckles skimmed the edge of the anomaly, the wall slid aside by half an inch. The dull groan of displaced stone was swallowed by the thickened air. Debris adjusted its landing point before it even had the chance to fall.
Patch was already airborne.
Its hind legs kicked off the ground, forepaws landing on another protrusion—one that should not have existed. Space had forced it into being, a temporary support trembling beneath the impact.
The black scar collapsed inward beneath its weight. Dust scattered, dissolving midair, denied the chance to touch the ground.
Ayla never looked up.
Her gaze was locked on the floor. She could read the return speed of every vibration—see which stones responded too slowly, which seams bulged a fraction early. Pebbles jittered inside the cracks, driven by an invisible rhythm.
"Left side won't hold."
The moment the words landed, Jeff had already turned. His foot came down on the safe zone Ayla had marked with the lightest tap of her toe. No hesitation.
The second punch landed.
Air compressed, releasing layered, muffled impacts mixed with the strained creak of protesting masonry. Sound ricocheted through the church, folding back on itself.
In the distance, an ambulance siren wailed—stretched thin, wavering in pitch, directionless—before sinking into the air and vanishing.
The anomaly's shadow tore open.
The black mark on the wall elongated violently. Smoke hissed along its edges, carrying the stench of scorched stone and burnt fabric. At its center formed a void that consumed light.
Sound approaching it lost fragments of itself. Wind curved away.A dead vacuum bloomed.
Emilia sat against the wall. Her instruments had gone dark.
Every button was unresponsive. The indicator lights—once steady green—flickered erratically between red and green before dying completely, leaving only cold black plastic.
Her breath hitched. The smell of blood from her shoulder mixed with the corrosive stench left behind by the anomaly, sharp enough to make her dizzy. A metallic taste crept up her throat.
Rowan stepped in front of her.
His back was rigid as steel. Stone struck near his feet, bounced, fell again. He didn't move.
"Close your eyes," he said quietly. "Don't look at the opening."
The third tremor arrived without warning.
It came from far away—like a pulse traveling through deep water, cutting through the crust and reaching them intact.
A fine numbness crawled up from the soles of their feet, as if they were standing on live metal. It seeped outward from bone to muscle, weakening every limb.
Jeff's step faltered.
—
Rome. Outside the Colosseum.
The stone steps sank in unison. Support vanished, then was violently forced back. Tourists staggered as their balance was stripped away and crudely restored.
Sunlight pouring through fractures stretched into skewed bands, casting shadows that lengthened and contracted like breathing. The entire plaza pulsed to an unnatural rhythm.
Some fell to their knees, stone cracking dully beneath them. Others clutched railings, knuckles white, sweat seeping between their fingers. A few stood frozen, hands shaking uncontrollably, faces hollow with confusion and fear.
Monitoring systems captured a single, razor-thin spike—then flatlined.
No trace remained, as if the tremor had never occurred.
—
In Florence, Jeff drove forward through the distortion.
The third punch struck the anomaly's core.
Its shadow folded inward, collapsing into itself with a sound like fine glass shattering.
The black scar swallowed its final outline. The void tightened, leaving behind something like a half-closed eye—silent, watching, radiating unease.
Patch cut in at the last moment.
It kicked off the wall, slammed its body sideways into a failing support column, forcing its collapse off-axis.
The impact hurled it backward. Its claws carved a long line across the floor. Blood beaded at its pads.
Pain.
Patch made no sound. It licked its paw once, ears pressed flat, tail tight against its legs, and stood at Jeff's side.
The collapse redirected.
Stone crashed into an empty side aisle, erupting into a cloud of white dust.
The dust rose, froze for a breath—then fell.
It settled on Jeff's shoulders.
At last, everything came down.
Footprints, blood, rubble—all softly buried beneath white powder, erased from view.
ARC units arrived before the ambulances.
Perimeter tape snapped into place, harsh yellow against the gray haze. Orders were clipped, impersonal. Cameras were shoved aside, lenses forcibly capped, leaving only the dull thud of plastic striking plastic.
Boots struck stone sharply, their crisp rhythm clashing with the church's unnatural silence. Each step rattled exposed nerves.
A young man hid behind the remains of a pew, body shaking, phone still raised. The image wobbled violently, struggling to focus.
On his screen, Patch's leap replayed once.
Jeff's punch followed—stones shifting first, falling afterward.
Time reversed.
The clip existed for thirty-seven seconds.
Then it vanished.
Somewhere in the world, someone saw the beginning of something—and buried the footage deep.
Inside the church, silence pressed in.
Even falling dust could be heard.
Only the breach in the wall continued to contract, the surrounding air vibrating at a constant rhythm. Patch's breathing synced unconsciously to it, each breath trembling.
The anomaly was gone.
Only the opening remained.
People standing too close found their feet retreating on instinct, bodies rejecting a space that violated physical law.
The bricks around the breach loosened. Each distant pulse made the seams open and close like a mouth, exhaling cold.
Jeff stood still.
His chest heaved. His fingers tingled, fists dusted with lime and grit. He tried to raise a hand to wipe his face—his fingers trembled instead.
The aftershock hadn't left his body yet. It ricocheted through his bones.
The smell of lime and blood burned his eyes. Tears welled, frozen in place by the chill.
The air was thick as glue. Each breath dragged, sticky and heavy, making him want to cough—but he forced it down.
Pressure bloomed in his chest.
The breach in the wall—
was a door.