It felt like standing on melting ice. Ling could clearly sense the Flying Thunder God coordinates he had laid down going "inactive" one after another. They were not being erased; it was more as though something thick and pale had "clogged" them. Their clear connections to space itself grew hazy and distorted, as if viewed through frosted glass. Each coordinate that dimmed made his heart tighten a little more-their escape routes were being eaten away.
"We can't stay." Ling's voice was dry, his Adam's apple bobbing. "The nearest stable coordinate is at one o'clock, about four hundred meters away. The ones farther out... their signals are all fading."
The tomoe in Kakashi's Sharingan turned slowly as he surveyed the pale central area. "Kankuro, send out a small one. Have it circle at a distance and record footage. Shino, spread your insects as far as you can. Focus on changes in energy flow. Sakura, prepare an emergency medical plan. Ling, concentrate on maintaining contact with the nearest coordinate. We withdraw as soon as we have the bare minimum of footage."
The orders were clear, but everyone moved with a taut stiffness. Kankuro guided a palm-sized spider puppet silently along the rusted ground toward the flank. Shino's swarm scattered like splashed droplets of ink, blending into the murky yellow background.
Ling closed his eyes, sinking almost all his attention into sensing that nearest coordinate. It flickered like a candle in the wind. The air around them grew thicker, each breath carrying the acrid taste of corroded metal that scraped his throat raw. He could even feel the chakra along the surface of his body being drawn away, slowly, thread by thread, like evaporating moisture.
Time crawled by, second after second.
Suddenly, Shino gave a muffled groan and swayed. "The swarm... contact keeps