Winter's hand remained buried in David's chest, but something was wrong. The darkness that usually obeyed his every whim refused to move. A strange pressure began building around them—not mere power, but something that made reality itself shudder.
The pressure grew heavier, more oppressive. It wasn't just physical force; it felt like time itself was pressing down on Winter, countless temporal threads wrapping around his form like chains. Each second stretched into eternity as David's presence expanded beyond mortal limits.
"Where do you think you're going?" David's voice echoed with infinite possibilities—each word carrying the weight of countless timelines.
For the first time in eons, Winter felt his throat go dry. He pulled harder, channeling more void energy into his arm, but David's chest might as well have been an event horizon—a point of no return.
