Actinic, hateful, red, light oozed from the aftermath of the torpedo. Spacetime was thin here, where the brane rubbed up against the surface of another Universe. Here, there was something trapped between the two. In the not-space between realities. Trapped. Screaming.
The crew of the Arbogast felt the shiver through space as an enormous, clawed, hand reached through the hole. Grasping in vacuum as a drowning man would grab at the air. It struggled when, whatever it was, began to pull it's massive bulk through the terrifying tear. Gripping Spacetime itself to drag it into the Universe.