The garden air, once filled with the sweet, heavy scent of medicinal herbs, was now sharp with the smell of ozone and burnt earth.
Callom's eyes were no longer those of a protective father; they were the cold, focused orbs of a predator who had finally realised the "prey" had teeth.
"Don't blame me for being overbearing," Callom growled, his voice vibrating with a dangerous resonance. He began to close the distance, his footsteps heavy enough to leave deep impressions in the dirt.
He was no longer underestimating the boy. The sting on his shoulder from the previous explosion was a burning reminder that William didn't play by the rules of conventional spirit master combat.
Callom couldn't believe he had been forced to activate his spirit power just to survive a volley of wooden sticks.
