Marc's hands were numb from the wrists, and he kept them there.
Reality on the right half of the rise maintained the shape he'd forced into place, continuities reduced and escape routes narrowed, with Outer God tricks taking longer to become what they wanted to be. Every second of holding this shape felt like trying to haul a mountain by the teeth, and the blood ran from his nose in a steady stream. His vision pulsed at the edges, and somewhere deep in his eyes a hot wire of pain was always tightening.
He held.
"Still up," he rasped, mostly to himself, "still up."
Around him Team Zero was using every inch he'd bought.
