The Rift

The wings of the stage offered a perfect view of the spectacle.

The Neo-Vegas Colosseum was a masterpiece of magi-tech engineering. Floating platforms defied gravity, holographic dragons wove through the air, and the sound system was powerful enough to liquefy organs.

Seraphina was in her element. She stood on the center platform, mic in hand, weaving light magic into her performance. As she hit the high notes, beams of hard-light erupted from the stage, dazzling the audience. The crowd screamed her name, a ocean of glow-sticks and worship.

It was impressive, in a theatrical sort of way. But to a warrior, it was foolish. She was expending seventy percent of her mana on visuals, leaving almost nothing for defense. She was a glass cannon dancing on a knife's edge.

I leaned against a stack of crates, bored. This body—Julian’s body—ached for real movement. It was soft, unconditioned. I had spent the last month since my "awakening" secretly refining his meridians, but it was slow work.

Then, the air pressure dropped.

It happened mid-chorus. The bass cut out. The holographic dragons flickered and died. A low, subsonic vibration rattled the teeth of everyone in the front row.

High above the stage, the air tore open.

It wasn't a portal. Portals were clean, circular, constructed. This was a tear—a jagged, bleeding wound in reality. The light from the stage was sucked into it, vanishing into absolute blackness.

The music stopped. The crowd’s screaming shifted from adoration to confusion.

* CRACK.*

Something massive fell from the rift. It landed directly on the drum riser, crushing the equipment and sending the drummer flying with a wave of concussive force.

Dust and debris billowed out. Through the haze, three serpentine heads rose up, hissing with the sound of tearing metal.

A Void Hydra.

It was uglier than the ones in my world. Its skin was like oil slick, absorbing the stadium lights. Its eyes were burning holes of purple entropy.

"Security!" Marcus screamed from somewhere behind me. "Where is security?!"

A dozen uniformed mages rushed the stage, casting fireballs and lightning bolts. The spells hit the Hydra’s hide and fizzled out harmlessly. Void beasts didn't care about elemental magic. They ate it.

The middle head snapped forward, swallowing two of the security mages whole.

Panic detonated in the stadium. The stampede began.

Seraphina stood frozen on the center platform. She was staring up at the monstrosity, her face pale. She raised her hand, summoning a shield of hard-light, but her hands were shaking. She had trained for choreography, for duels with other mages, for controlled environments.

She had never seen a predator that looked at her not as a star, but as a calorie source.

The Hydra’s left head fixated on her. It smelled her high mana density. It screeched—a sound like grinding glass—and lunged.

Seraphina’s shield shattered on impact. She was thrown back, landing hard on the edge of the stage. The beast coiled for the killing strike.

"Run!" she screamed at the crowd, at her dancers, at anyone. "Get back!"

She closed her eyes, bracing for the end.