Elius stood upon the cracked, smoking edge of a cliff overlooking a shallow crater—a wound in the earth where the dimensional rift shimmered with an eerie crimson-orange hue.
The dimensional veil swirled like molten glass, twisting with turbulent flames, seething quietly as though something deep inside was breathing.
A dry wind blew across the rocks, carrying with it the acrid scent of rusted metal and scorched oil.
This… was the rift.
"Keith," Elius murmured, his eyes narrowing. "You're trying to force open a dungeon… so monsters will pour out." His words were heavy, filled with both dread and irritation. "And with the cube… you might actually succeed."
He clenched his fists. If this was some kind of higher-ranked rift—C, B, or worse—it could be a catastrophe. Not just for the civilians nearby. Not just for the city.
But for every ranked Superhero in the nation.
