Panic.
That was the only word Luther could think of as the temple garden turned into hell itself.
The explosion had barely stopped ringing in his ears before a torrent of fire surged into the crowd. Worshippers screamed and scrambled, robes trailing smoke, while the ceiling groaned under the weight of fresh cracks. Chunks of marble and flaming debris rained down.
Another blast of fire slammed into the floor not ten feet from where Luther knelt. The shockwave hurled him backward, heat licking at his skin. He rolled across the ground and pressed flat, heart pounding.
"Oh come on!" he shouted, his voice lost in the screams. "I did pray for something, but not like this!"
The scent of burning flesh clawed at his throat. People lay motionless, blackened, others writhing and clutching at scorched limbs.
