A static roar, like a distant waterfall, rose in Bagdona's ears.
The world around him sharpened violently, colors oversaturating until the sun seemed to burn with a blinding, white intensity.
His heart sank, a sense of profound wrongness settling in his gut.
He looked back at Gurov, his brow furrowing. They had been five metres apart a moment ago, but the distance between them was growing. The ground, and Gurov himself, seemed to stretch like pulled ribbons.
It wasn't just Gurov. Bagdona looked down at his feet; his own shadow had separated from his heels, elongating along with the warping earth.
The static assaulted his ears, rising to a scream. He watched in horror as his own torso stretched upward, though his feet remained planted firmly on the soil.
With a desperate thought, he turned toward the inner city wall, channeling essence into his muscles to sprint.
However, the wall and the land in between elongated, stretching away faster than he could move.
