Barnaby Holt slammed both heels into the shattered flagstones as the first salt-golem lunged.
The heavy iron pestle whistled through the choking rock-dust, its head wrapped in roaring emerald fire.
Two whole hands gripped the blackened iron haft. For the first time in forty years, Barnaby’s left fingers dug deep into the cold metal, matching his right palm pound for pound.
BOOM.
The iron pestle smashed directly into the golem’s crystalline breastplate.
Earth-fire detonated with the force of a siege cannon. Emerald flames ripped through the creature’s core, blowing the ten-foot construct into a shower of white grit and melted salt-glass.
“Come on,” Barnaby roared, his voice shaking the stone walls. “My other arm has forty years of chores to settle!”
Above the breached archway, the ceiling shattered.
