The moment I crossed the threshold, the space rejected me.
Not violently.
Deliberately.
The ground beneath my feet was solid—cracked concrete reinforced with metal beams—but it wasn't level. The surface sloped in subtle, uneven angles that forced my balance to adjust without permission. Walls leaned inward just enough to make straight movement uncomfortable, like the corridor had been assembled by something that understood structure but not proportion.
There was light.
But no source.
A dull, ambient glow filled the space, casting soft shadows that didn't quite line up with their owners. No lamps. No sun. Just illumination that existed because darkness hadn't been allowed to finish forming.
The air felt compressed.
Not thin.Delayed.
Each breath arrived a fraction of a second after I inhaled, like the space itself was deciding whether to allow it.
No sky.No horizon.
Only enclosure.
This place wasn't a world.
It was a container.
I didn't rush.
Rushing was how people died in environments like this.
I placed the first anchor against a warped section of wall where the corridor folded inward. The reflective node resisted slightly as it made contact, the surface beneath it flexing like it remembered being something else.
The feedback through Shadow was immediate.
Space was unstable here.
Good.
I placed the second anchor farther in, near an open section that might once have been a loading area. Broken platforms hovered inches above the ground without support, frozen mid-collapse. Metal rails ran along the floor, stopping abruptly where the space bent inward on itself.
The gate didn't like being measured.
Pressure intensified, tightening around my chest like an invisible hand.
Something shifted deeper inside.
Not movement.
Awareness.
I armed the first device and stepped back two paces, aligning myself along the pressure gradient instead of retreating straight back. Straight lines didn't exist here.
The detonation went wrong.
Inside the gate, sound folded inward, compressing the explosion into a crushing pulse instead of a wave. The shock hit the corridor hard enough to make the walls flex, anchors vibrating violently.
Too violent.
I adjusted instantly, sliding sideways along the fold instead of pulling back.
The first Riftstalker tore its way into existence mid-collapse.
Type I.
Tall. Thin. Unfinished.
Its limbs scraped against distorted space as it lurched forward, dragged by pressure rather than intent. Dark, leathery hide clung unevenly to exposed muscle, its body forced into shape rather than grown into it.
Its head peeled open.
Not split.
Unfolded.
Petal-like sections spread outward, revealing a circular maw lined with uneven teeth. No eyes. No face. Just an opening that vibrated as it released a low, soundless pressure wave.
It didn't charge.
It fell toward me.
I triggered the second device.
Late.
The blast caught it at an angle, shearing off part of its upper mass instead of destabilizing its core. The Riftstalker slammed into the ground hard enough to crack the concrete, convulsing as pressure surged around it.
It didn't dissolve.
That was new.
[STAMINA: 71%]
The gate was denser than projected.
The Riftstalker recovered with disturbing speed, limbs snapping back into place as pressure gathered again. It rose in jerking motions, space bending to accommodate it.
I didn't retreat.
Retreat widened the pressure differential.
Instead, I stepped into its vector, letting the uneven slope beneath my feet redirect my movement. The creature overshot, claws tearing through warped space where I'd been standing.
I activated Shadow.
[Shadow — High Output]
The world dulled.
Not visually.
Causally.
The Riftstalker's reaction lagged by a fraction of a second that felt longer than it should have. That fraction was everything.
I guided its momentum into a shallow fold near the loading platforms, where space hadn't stabilized properly. The creature stumbled, pressure collapsing unevenly beneath it.
I shoved.
Not to throw.
To tip.
Its form tore apart along invisible stress lines, evaporating into nothing.
[STAMINA: 62%]
Too much drain.
I killed Shadow immediately as sensation rushed back into my body. My lungs burned. Vision swam.
No time.
The gate reacted violently.
Pressure surged from multiple angles, the environment tightening as anchors rattled and feedback spiked.
Escalation.
Two new presences formed deeper inside.
Type II.
Lower profile. Faster. Smarter.
They didn't charge.
They circled.
Their compact bodies clung to distorted surfaces with unnatural precision, moving laterally along walls and platforms instead of advancing directly.
I backed toward a narrower section of corridor, forcing the space to constrain them. They adapted instantly, splitting apart to approach from different angles, pressure flattening against the walls.
One lunged low.
I jumped diagonally, letting the slanted ground redirect my trajectory. The creature passed beneath me, claws sparking against warped metal.
The second struck immediately.
I rolled hard, barely avoiding a tearing swipe that grazed my shoulder.
Pain flared.
Not deep.
Enough.
[STAMINA: 54%]
I couldn't outrun them.
I couldn't outlast them.
I armed the third device and threw it—not at them, but into the pressure seam they'd been avoiding.
The detonation ripped through the corridor.
Space screamed.
Platforms collapsed. Walls folded inward.
One Riftstalker was caught in the collapse, its form shredding instantly.
The other survived.
Barely.
It charged straight through the collapsing space, pressure surging hard enough to pin me against the wall. The force crushed my chest, driving the breath from my lungs.
This wasn't attention.
It was force.
Shadow wouldn't help.
My hand closed around the shortsword.
I drew it without ceremony.
The Riftstalker lunged again, maw opening wide as it tried to crush me against the warped surface.
I didn't aim for its core.
I aimed for structure.
One precise thrust into the unstable joint where its upper mass intersected its torso.
The blade slid in cleanly.
The Riftstalker convulsed violently, pressure spiking so hard my vision blurred. I was thrown sideways as its form disintegrated around the blade.
I hit the ground hard.
[STAMINA: 39% ⚠]
I stayed down.
Standing immediately would've been fatal.
The gate didn't calm.
It stabilized.
Something heavier asserted itself.
Type III.
An anchor presence.
The environment locked into rigid form, folds freezing in place as pressure flattened everything inside.
Containment.
If I stayed, the gate would finish correcting itself.
I wouldn't leave.
I triggered the final contingency.
Not a device.
A decision.
[Shadow — Override]
Pain detonated behind my eyes as perception fractured. The anchors flared brightly, giving me reference as I ran—guided by memory rather than sight—through collapsing space.
Something massive shifted behind me.
I didn't look.
I dove through the threshold as the gate imploded inward, space folding violently shut.
I hit concrete hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.
Silence.
Real silence.
The city reclaimed the space instantly, indifferent to what had just been erased.
I lay there longer than necessary, body shaking.
[STAMINA: 14% ⚠][CONDITION: SEVERE FATIGUE][SHADOW STATUS: TEMPORARILY LOCKED]
That hadn't been a victory.
It had been a margin.
I wiped the blade clean with unsteady hands and sheathed it.
The silent gate was gone.
No alarms.No witnesses.No record.
But the conclusion was unavoidable.
This world didn't reward power.
It punished mistakes.
And next time—
There wouldn't be this much room for error.