The sound of reality tearing wasn't loud. It didn't boom like thunder or crack like a whip. It was a wet, sickening sound, like thick canvas being ripped apart by slow, deliberate hands. It was the sound of a birth that should never have happened.
The tear in the roof of the Old Gym widened, spilling purple light and a stench that made my eyes water—ozone, sulfur, and the coppery tang of old, dried blood.
The eye stared down. It was the size of a car, iris swirling with galaxies of necrotic energy, pupil a slit of absolute void.
"Kneel," I commanded.
I poured everything into the word. My [S+ Charisma]. The [King's Presence] skill. My B-Rank strength. It was a command that had brought my own shadow to its knees.
The eye blinked.
A wave of psychic pressure slammed into me, a hammer blow to the soul. It wasn't an attack; it was laughter. A cosmic, indifferent amusement that swatted my command aside like a gnat.
[System Alert!]
[Skill Failure: 'King's Presence'.]
