My Necromancer Class - Chapter 361: Pocket Rift

~Reality Relay Station; Pocket dimension between Mirror Reality 34 and Real World~

The old mage stationed at the tower had not slept. His flowing beard was a twisted mess, which he had nervously filled with as he paced around the room.

He had sent a high-priority message orb to the mirror reality, but he doubt it reached it target.

The three windows on the tower, the bridges between worlds, were unstable and flickering in and out of existence. Taking some precautions, he had burned his notes, his papers and every other document. The new window appearing was becoming more tangible; its edges and frame had manifested into physical objects, while the one to the mirror reality was fading and even disappeared for a few fractions of each second that passed.

But the old mage could do nothing. He had only one warp charge to power the tower, and its swirling energies were slowing and failing.

Every so often, the mage glanced at the window to the real world. The temptation to save himself and leave was strong, but that would use up the last of the warp charge. Without power, the tower would sever its connection to the mirror reality, causing a rebound that would destabilize it further, and lead to its collapse— all matter, beings, and thoughts inside would cease to exist.

The mage knew he wouldn’t sacrifice so many just to save himself, but the impulse to escape kept calling to him, luring him in.

Each time he glanced at the window he had to steel himself; he clenched his fists, shook his head and solidified his resolve.

He sat down by his fire place and took a deep swig of his drink as he watched the dancing flames.

This ancient tower will become my last abode. May its walls become my silent witness, preserving a testament to my final duty.

Letting the window fade was preferable to severing the connection, and he would make sure it did just that. But as he gazed into the consuming flames, another idea tiptoed into his mind. He lightly tapped his fingers on his armrest, then lightly beat his fist, then finally gripped the chair and pushed himself up, gritting his teeth as he committed himself to the idea.

He rushed down the stairs and retrieved the warp charge from its pedestal. The pedestal held some of its energy for a moment, and he rushed back upstairs before it powered down.

The new window, the one to an unknown world, seemed to respond and materialize completely. However, as he looked through, there was only an abyss of darkness.

He brought the warp charge nearer and cracks began to form on the unknown window.

He glanced back to the mirror reality window. Without the warp charge powering the pedestal downstairs, it was fading quickly, and was about to disappear.

Nothing came through the unknown window, but it began to fill with cracks. Something was pushing its through, ignoring all the consequences of shattering the window.

The old mage’s eyes widened in shock, and paused for a moment. But something in the depths of his mind drove him to move again, and he quickly moved to the unknown window. His hands filled with mana as he cast his spell; each fingertip glowing blue.

The tower was becoming a bridge between the real world and the unknown as the window began to shatter. The frame started to warp and bend.

The snow storm outside stopped its howling roar. The pure silence was only filled by a deep breath from the old mage. Peering out the only window he could see through, he saw that the snow had stopped falling—suspended in the air. Outside the tower, time stood still.

He had almost finished his spell. The warp charge began to hum and crackle violently.

The window to the unknown gave way, leaving only an endless void. Something made of immaterial pure nothingness seeped out. As it met the material world it began to morph and change; first it too the form of a tentacle, then the tentacle grew fingers, then claws.

“You’re too late!” The old mage growled.

The void of nothingness didn’t understand, much less comprehend as he came closer to finishing his spell.

But after a moment, it sounded back, echoing his voice.

“You’re too late!” the voice growled back from the abyssal void, sounding like his own voice but filled with deeper and waving undertones of disembodied souls.

The void of darkness seeping through kept changing and morphing, and slowly turned into a humanoid shape, similar to the old man’s body. It was copying him in every respect.

Strangely, its void-shape began to inch closer to the warp charge.

The old mage clenched his jaw, defiance etched upon his face as he ignored the creature and the relentless pressure building within him.

With searing pain that shot through his veins, he summoned every ounce of his dwindling strength, pushing the warp charge beyond instability and into the realms of madness. He shattered the fragile barrier that held the warp charge in, unleashing a cataclysmic surge of unimaginable power.

Reality quivered, its fragile tapestry rent and torn. The fabric of time, material, and space twisted and contorted, wailing in protest against the imminent rupture. The very air crackled with anticipation, charged with arcane energies that defied comprehension as they tried to mix with reality.

Then, with an ear-splitting detonation, the energies exploded.

The tower convulsed and waved as if it were a ribbon caught within the throes of a celestial storm. Colors blended and swirled, warping into hues unseen by mortal eyes. Fractured fragments of alternate dimensions bleded into existence, colliding with one another in a symphony of chaos. Gravity wavered, tugging at reality’s seams, as if unsure where its allegiance lay.

Pockets of swirling energy materialized, becoming portals to realms unknown. The boundaries of time warped, looping upon themselves in intricate patterns that defied logic. Spatial distortions stretched and snapped, creating fractures where the very laws of existence crumbled.

Fleeting glimpses of forgotten worlds, ethereal apparitions of creatures long extinct, all-seeing gazes of eldritch horrors, and whispers of forgotten secrets danced upon the fringes of perception.

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The old mage stood at the epicenter of this primordial storm of everything and nothing, his very essence intertwined with the unleashed energies. He was a conduit, a vessel of unbridled might that transcended mortal limitations. The weight of his actions, the price he paid, resonated through every fiber of his being as it tore him apart.

With a deafening roar, the fabric of this pocket reality began to crumble. The walls that had once stood strong now disintegrated into swirling mists of fading existence. Time and space twisted and folded in on themselves, creating a disorienting maze of fragmented corridors and shifting landscapes of snow and mountains. Then finally, the pocket dimension collapsed, leaving behind nothing but the void.