They did not fall through space.
They fell through existence.
Selena and Dante had stepped into something far worse than death, far more dangerous than the battlefield they had left behind. The Devil's Gate had not killed them. It had claimed them.
Down they tumbled—through crimson winds and spiraling light, through visions of every choice that had led them here. They fell past stars that screamed, past memories that weren't theirs, and through cracks in reality that bled with the cries of forgotten gods.
Then—
Impact.
It was not a crash. It was a breath being ripped from their lungs.
Dante slammed into obsidian stone that pulsed with residual magic, groaning as fire sparked around him. Selena landed beside him, wings twitching, her mark glowing in erratic pulses along her spine. Everything around them was alive—and watching.
The realm smelled of ash and wet iron.
They stood not in a place, but a wound in the universe.
Everything was warped.
