Xerollion reached down, his movements fluid and utterly devoid of exertion. His gloved fingers closed around what remained of Apollo's collarbone, the fabric now fused with congealed blood and torn flesh.
With a casual jerk that made Apollo's shattered vertebrae protest with a wet CRUNCH, Rex hauled the ruined body off the floor. Apollo's head lolled backward, his neck limp, his mouth agape in a silent, unconscious plea for an end that would not come.
With his free hand, Rex reached into the very fabric of the failing reality. He didn't just move through space; he tore it.
His claws raked across the air, leaving glowing violet gashes that bled raw chronal energy.
SHHHHH VROOOOOM
The spiral tore open with the sound of rending metal. The violet-black vortex spun into existence, a hungry mouth of swirling void that demanded to be fed.
