CALEB
Reality f*****g exploded like a bomb going off in God's face.
Not the fake s**t from before—this was the real deal, dimensional tears ripping open like someone took a chainsaw to existence itself. The Wild Hunt poured through those wounds like toxic waste from hell's septic system, and every Alpha instinct I'd inherited from generations of badass werewolves went into overdrive calculating exactly how screwed we were.
Answer: monumentally screwed, but still breathing.
The first obsidian steed crashed through with hooves that left actual craters in spacetime, its rider looking like something a psychotic surgeon would design during a meth bender. Where they touched ground, reality started bleeding—literally bleeding red drops that sizzled and hissed when they hit earth.
"All units,
