The sky cracked louder than a tavern brawl over a rigged dice game.
Everyone stared.
The monstrous face that had oozed out of the rift with the confidence of a drunk nobleman at a brothel was now gripped—gripped—by a divine, glowing claw that had appeared out of nowhere like an unpaid debt collector with divine receipts.
It was massive, silver and gold, swirling with ancient runes that shimmered like starfire dipped in holy rage.
It didn't move fast. It didn't need to.
Because when you're that big and that divine, you don't need to rush.
The claw squeezed the jelly-faced horror as if it were an overripe fruit.
Squelch.
The creature shrieked.
But it wasn't a scream.
It was… static.
A sound that made ears bleed and minds twitch.
Even Raven, standing there with his plot armor still glowing faintly like an overpriced system candle, winced.
Clara clutched her ears, eyes wide. "Is it trying to… curse us in sixteen different languages?"
