On it, a single word written in old ink:
"Observe."
He stood alone again.
He felt the world expanding around him. Every shape, every shadow, every movement whispered something deeper — subtle, beautiful, infinite.
He was just beginning to process it, to feel it settle in—
When the void split open again.
The floor rumbled. The air hissed. The walls of space-time groaned like a Renaissance fresco being insulted.
Rex barely had time to mutter "Oh no" before—
BOOM.
This time, there was no soft shimmer.
No delicate light.
No breath of awe.
There was only impact.
The sound of footsteps, thundering like hammer blows on marble — hard, rhythmic, purposeful.
No shadow.
No softness.
Just weight.
Rex turned toward the sound — and instinctively straightened his posture.
And then he saw him.
Not emerging. Not appearing.
Stomping.
Step by brutal step — as though the very space bowed beneath his presence.
