He was there, over the platform, sucking in the endless mana pouring out from the Ancient Riftshards. The ecstasy, the thrill, the sensation of being in an ocean of mana. It was hard to describe. Hard to force his mind into action when all he wanted was to experience the pleasure of it.He couldn’t.The ground rose. It ruptured. The whole hall got lifted by an enormous palm jutting out of the Gate of Surges, dozens and hundreds of shadows stumbling to find their balance, the two Templars holding onto Lenora as they were sent reeling back with the sudden impact, Valens hanging dearly for his life to the platform as the ceiling above them got crushed by the pressure.Then they were off, Nomad by his side, breaking through the floors one by one.“Hold on!” Nomad growled as he pulled Valens with a rotten hand, the other hand fixed tightly into the crevices of the platform as they hurtled upward with the giant palm pushing the ground high.Gravel rained down upon them in an endless tide, biting, scratching, leaving them completely out in the open. Breath hitched in Valens’s chest. He felt weightless, like a leaf being flung round by a mighty storm, tears trickling down his eyes.He saw the ceiling of another floor coming close. Or rather, they were closing on it with impossible speed. A twisted scene from a twisted dream. They were being hauled off by a giant creature that, for some reason, wanted to get to the surface.What do you do against a Dread? A creature that was higher than a Terror and was beyond the Fourth Trial? You hold on.No other way around it.He saw out of the corner of his eyes the state of the former hall. Selin and Celme weren’t there. The Evercrest woman stood amongst the shadows, laughing hysterically even as her swarm got battered by the boulders. Everything around Valens had been swept into a flashing chaos, and another giant hand was moving out in the far, punching through (...)