As the last wave of Longwei's explosion faded in sheets of trembling heat, scorched wind swept across the broken and melted field.
Ashes, burnt flesh, and the bitter smell of melted stone lanced through the nostrils and lungs of every pale face.
Rivers of orange light ran down through the cracked rock where the blast had struck deeper. Chunks of basalt stone rained from above, striking the ground with loud, dull sounds.
In an impossible beam of golden light, which began to dissipate as the sparks from the blast flew around, Leon stood there, one boot half-slid back.
His ears rang. For a few seconds, all he could hear was the shrill emptiness and the wild beat of his own heart.
Although he wasn't badly affected like the soldiers who had formed a ring for the reporters, he could feel their pain in his bones.
The world before him moved in fragments of smoke, falling pebbles, and the torn shape of the collapsed ground, giving him the memory of Alchemania.
