Vernoso's breath comes ragged, fire-law burning off him in wild waves as he pushes his body to its limit. His hand dips into his robes, clutching something tight—a crystal sphere veined with cracks, its glow unstable, dangerous.
Alix's eyes narrow, catching the faint shimmer. He doesn't slow, stormlight curling around him, but his voice carries, low and cutting.
"So you've still got a trick left. What are you planning, human?"
Vernoso's teeth grind, his lips curling back in a snarl. "You think you've cornered me? Hah! You'll never have me!"
He slams the crystal against his chest.
It fractures with a sound like screaming glass. The morning air twists violently as space itself shudders. Symbols of ancient origin flare around Vernoso's body, bright and unstable. The very earth splits, the sky ripples, a distortion pulling outward in every direction.
