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Then, without a sound, it arrived.
A still-water tsunami. It wasn't the crashing roar of waves, nor the fury of a storm. It was a silence, thick and suffocating, as if the world held its breath. The water—dark and dense—spread slowly, creeping over the broken streets, engulfing the city without warning. Buildings crumbled as if made of sand, their skeletal frames sinking into the liquid calm.
People stood frozen, eyes wide with disbelief, unable to run, unable to scream. The city, once alive with noise, was swallowed whole by an eerie, motionless tide. The world had been chopped, but now it was drowned.