The lead entity's horizontal slit flickered faster, the cold white light stuttering like a corrupted file. Silver threads thickened, lashing forward like metallic serpents toward the seven stones embedded in the sanctuary heart.
"Reclamation protocol authorized," it intoned, voice flat yet carrying the weight of countless pocket realities crushed under bureaucratic boots. "Anomalous bearer will be extracted. Bonds severed. Pocket reset."
The first thread struck.
It never reached the stones.
Drakar moved first. The Dragon Lord's roar was pure volcanic fury. A torrent of crimson fire—hotter and brighter than anything the Beast World had ever seen—erupted from his jaws in a roaring cone. It slammed into the silver threads, melting them mid-air into dripping slag that hissed and evaporated before it could touch the ground. The heat wave rolled outward, forcing the Headquarters delegation to stagger back a step, their chrome skin reflecting distorted flames.
