The sensation of a space-time warp was profoundly disorienting, akin to being forcefully pulled through the eye of a needle. The luxurious, illuminated expanse of the villa's basement vanished in a blur of stretching colours, replaced instantly by the suffocating, humid darkness of the island's deepest jungle.
There was no sound of arrival. Tygr and Jovis had executed the drop with flawless, terrifying precision.
The strike team materialised at the very edge of the sunken crater Solis had identified on his tablet. The air here was practically toxic, thick with the stench of rotting vegetation and ozone. At the centre of the depression, knee-deep in a pool of corrupted, black water, stood the twins. Their hands were buried in the muck, their eyes closed as they channelled Fenice's rotting magic outward to sustain the siege on the villa miles away.
They were utterly, blissfully unaware that the prey had just bypassed their entire fortress.
