Inigo's back slammed against the obsidian floor. The echo rang for miles—if space here even followed normal rules anymore. Dazed, he blinked and rolled onto his side, clutching his M4 like a lifeline.
The figure on the throne hadn't moved since proclaiming itself as the Rift. It stood like a living shadow—humanoid only in shape, wrapped in layers of shimmering darkness and twisted symbols.
"Are you alright?" Lyra called from a few feet away, her voice breathless.
"Define alright," Inigo muttered, staggering to his feet.
The battlefield was impossible. Shifting terrain, spiraling light, floating platforms that rose and fell with no pattern. Magic warped the very laws of gravity. He'd fought things—many things—but nothing like this.
He activated his freedom shop system.
"Time to bring in the big guns."
He flicked through the Shop's categories. Rifles, grenades, ballistic shields… too weak. He needed something absurd.
There.
