The Flame Envoy did not wait for the blue-white light to grow any brighter.
A choked, desperate howl tore through his throat as panic overcame four centuries of imperial pride.
He slammed his gauntlets together, forcing all nine wobbling crimson suns into a single raging fireball.
“Die,” the Envoy shrieked, hurling the unstable mass straight toward the pavilion. “Fall with me into the solar abyss.”
The roaring sphere of compressed plasma plunged downward like a dying star, burning the air into vacuum.
Kaelen Vance did not blink.
He focused his divine sense upon the second row of golden glyphs carved across the Fallow Slate within his dantian.
Track 2 has been resting for two months, Kaelen thought, feeling the familiar slumbering weight in his core. Time to let it stretch its legs.
