Bleedthrough The New World of SwapTech chapter 13 by deleted_user

Mark stumbled into the living room just as the remote lifted an inch off the table, hovering, red button glowing like a dying star. Shadows surged from his body, wrapping the device protectively—or possessively—while stellar light arced from Lisa’s fingertips toward it.

The screen tore open wider. Not just video—reality bent. A thin rift shimmered in the center of the TV, edges crackling with pixelated static. Through it Mark glimpsed the shattered alien cityscape from Starbreaker, wind howling, plasma cape fragments whipping past like ghosts. The air in the living room grew thick, smelling of ozone and scorched metal.

The remote pulsed once—hard—and yanked.

Mark felt it in his gut: a hook behind his navel. Lisa gasped, golden eyes wide. They both staggered forward, pulled by invisible threads. Shadows and stellar energy lashed out, trying to anchor them to the floor, but the rift widened, sucking air in like a vacuum.

Rufus barked frantically from the hallway, claws scrabbling on hardwood.

Then—impact.

They didn’t fully cross. The pull snapped short, like a rubber band at its limit. Mark and Lisa collapsed onto the carpet inches from the TV, bodies half-phased: midnight skin flickering with static, stellar veins glitching in and out. The rift shrank to a fist-sized tear, still humming, still showing glimpses of the movie world—enemy drones frozen mid-dive, Umbra’s flagship listing in the void.

The remote clattered back to the table, button dark again.

Karen pounded on the door. “Hello? I heard crashing! I’m calling the non-emergency line if you don’t—”

Lisa crawled to the door on hands and knees, breasts dragging against the carpet through the hoodie. “We’re fine!” she called, voice cracking with reverb. “Just… dropped a lamp! Go home, Karen!”

Silence. Footsteps retreated slowly.

Mark lay on his back, robe fallen open, breasts heaving, pussy still throbbing from the shadow-tease during the conversation. Shadows retreated sheepishly to his ankles. He stared at the tiny rift in the TV screen.

“We’re bleeding through,” he rasped in Umbra’s sultry voice. “The movie’s leaking into our house.”

Lisa pushed herself up, golden eyes locked on the tear. “And if it widens again…”

She didn’t finish. They both knew: next time the pull might not snap short.