The world hummed with unbearable heat, filling the air with the sounds of leaves cracking and snapping like popcorn. Peter's horrifying scream washed over them.
Lucen grabbed his throat, rasping as the air grew thinner and burnt his throat as it went down. Aya ripped off a piece of her armour, her gloved fingers steaming upon touching the shining metal.
And whatever was happening to Cross was worse than burnt skin. The war between the different mana in Peter's body looked unimaginably painful. The golden swirl of Divine mana, the slithering silver of Life mana, and the blackish-red mana that Lucen did not know.
[Wrath mana. He has consulted the forbidden one. That flame will take whoever it touches to the grave with him.]
Lucen would have turned pale if his skin weren't red as a tomato. He tried to pick up his spear, but it burnt his skin.
Does life mean nothing to these people? There had a solution that didn't depend on death.
