The spatial rift spit them out forty feet above the canopy, dropping them straight through a tangled web of rotting cypress branches before slamming them into the muck below.
Splatter!
Caleb Conway hit the thick sludge on both feet, his knees flexing to absorb the downward momentum as his locked formation dispersed with practiced economy. The four retainers of The Golden Ledger landed around him in an immediate diamond perimeter, their boots driving deep into the purple mire without a single stumble, while Iris swept down onto an exposed cypress root with her rapier half cleared from its scabbard. Around them, the violent spatial vortex had already closed, having scattered the thousands of entering disciples across hundreds of square miles of untamed terrain, leaving Caleb’s squad isolat
