The cool night wind gently drifted between the bare, curving hills. Dust particles scattered through the air, swirling in brief circles above the ground before freezing abruptly upon reaching the strange yellow field ahead. It was as if an invisible threshold had disrupted the natural flow of air and time.
At the center of the yellow zone, the entire group of forty men was suspended in mid-air, torn apart like a frozen painting.
Droplets of blood, tense fibers of muscle, shattered bones, organs flung outward—
All clearly distinguishable, hovering in the air. Neither falling nor moving forward. Time had turned into an image.
And within that image, only one remained alive: Corc.
Short black hair stuck to the sweat on his face. Eyes wide open, staring at the man in front of him, a mixture of shock and utter incomprehension frozen in his gaze.
