Chapter 9: Hum on the Spanp

The bridge stretched vast under Kente's boots, its rough ancient stone grinding slow, cracks snaking like Old Brass alleys left to fade. Bright clouds hung low, their glare steady, softening a sky that didn't shift—always day, always sharp—a hum threading through the rift's million-kilometer span, sinking into his chest. His ribs ached faint, WanLanden's hit a quiet scar, but he paced steady—the tag in his pocket warm, Zuri's tag, humming with a soul that skipped steps to find him, a love TheSun's cult couldn't cut. The bead on his forehead pulsed soft, a deep vibration—not words, just a hum—Umvelina's daughter stirring slow, discovering what already was.

Tamara lagged close, breath short, no bread left—just crumbs dusting his tunic, his tortoise shell flickering faint as he stumbled slow. "This—how's it hummin' like that?" he wheezed, voice thin, hands trembling soft, catching the rift's deep pulse.

"Juju finds what's there," Chioma said, her growl low, claws flexing slow as she paced beside 'em—eight racers left, shadows stretched thin on stone, their steps a distant scrape. "Vibes the world—skips the work."

Prophet Mirror drifted ahead, cloak brushing stone, his illusions weaving slow—tiny birds circling, fading into clouds, then a hawk, sharp and quick, humming the rift's echo back. "Fourth's dust—fifth's close," he said, voice steady, calm slicing air—Falther's brother, his dark eyes glinting, catching a vibration Kente couldn't name.

The bridge trembled soft—Jolo, Wota Watini speedster, Rock Lee-fast, hit the fifth point—a blur far off, his grin tight as stone groaned slow behind him. Sixty seconds—a crack split wide—and Kente's breath steadied, glancing back—Mount Brass's Reality Puncher pacing slow, Ananci's Porcupine rolling lone, a Wota Watini straggler fading in haze. The rift rumbled, and half dropped—slow, heavy—stone crumbling into clouds, but no shouts—Jolo's hum outpaced it, seven left, the vibration swallowing silence.

Tamara's shell flared, catching his stumble, his gasp faint. "It—it didn't take 'em!" His hands shook, crumbs dusting stone slow—a flicker of Old Brass dust in his tremble.

"Juju skipped it," Prophet said, hawk circling slow, spotting Jolo's blur fading far—five hours stretched, one left—his calm hum tying 'em tight.

Kente's tag pulsed, warm—Zuri's soul—a flicker hit, cold stone underfoot, red eyes grinning as TheSun's gold robes loomed, cutting souls for his black idol—a hum skipping steps, bending reality slow, a vibration WanLanden's fire couldn't burn. "Stay close," he said, voice low, steady—pulling Tamara along—the bead hummed deep, Umvelina's echo cracking his fog.

A glint cut through—silver rectangular pupils, white hair swaying slow—Kael, Goat Eye clan—not Old Brass—stepped steady, his prey juju humming soft, wide vision catching every shift. "This rift hums weak," he said, voice calm, Byakuya-smooth—his silver eyes glinted, bending air slow—"My sight skips steps—sees what's there." A Mount Brass brute blasted juju—light cracking stone—and Kael sidestepped, reflexes humming quick, the blast fading into clouds—seven held.

Chioma's growl softened, pacing tight. "Talks too much—sees too slow." Her claws flexed, tracing Kael's stride—a quiet fire humming low.

A roll hit—Ruk, Ananci's Porcupine—Inca Prey: Body Spikes—curled tight, spikes out, tumbling fast past 'em—a lone wind cutting stone. "Spikes hum stone," he rasped, voice rough, rolling slow—spikes grazed a Wota Watini straggler, bending his step—a yelp, a stumble—and he tipped off, gone to stands—six left. Ruk unrolled, pacing lone, his vibration fading ahead.

Kente's tag hummed, steady—Zuri's soul—and a shadow loomed—Dren, Mount Brass Reality Puncher—fingers flexing slow, high-IQ brute stepping close. "One touch skips it all," he said, voice cold, sharp—his fingers brushed Ruk mid-roll—a hum cracked air, stone trembling slow—Ruk's spikes bent inward, a groan as he fell—five left—Dren's smirk glinted menace, bending reality with a tap.

"Dren's hummin' death," Chioma muttered, claws out slow—her growl deepened—"Gonna claw that trick—vibe it back."

Prophet's hawk flared—an illusion humming sharp—swooping low at Dren—his fingers flexed, missing slow—five held—Jolo ahead, Kael steady, Old Brass's four pacing tight. Kente's bead pulsed, warm—a flicker hit—not Zuri's grin, but TheSun's black idol, Umvelina's hum threading through—a vibration skipping steps, cracking his fog slow—WanLanden's fire burned it, but the rift sang it back.

A screen flickered—stands far off—silver eyes, Zaria's eyes, watching quiet—her nod soft, steady—a scavenged hope from Old Brass dust tying him here.

The bridge's end loomed—stone narrowing slow—Jolo stood, grin tight—six hours done—Kael, Dren, Old Brass's four pacing close—the rift's hum softened, its vibration bending reality slow.