Inverted (COMPLETE)

Ashley Everson lay bleeding on the dust floor, the roar of the arena a fading echo in his ears. The warm, metallic scent of his own blood mingled with the acrid smell of scorched engine oil. He couldn't open his eyes; blood from his head wept into them, sealing them shut. His body trembled, a desperate, uncontrolled twitch against the cold grip of approaching unconsciousness.

He heard voices, his manager's frantic shouts, the medic's urgent pleas, but they seemed distant, muffled, as if filtered through water. Every shallow breath was a raw, searing pain in his chest.

*

They saw the fissure, a shimmering tear in the fabric of reality, leaking into the plane of existence. It pulsed with plumes of unreality, phasing in and out of sight. These planes, normally separate, connected only at the point of death. In a desperate, impulsive act, they surged through, bundling themselves into the fragile confines of a dying consciousness, setting it alight once more.