And a pattern flared across his forearm, jagged lines etching themselves into his skin as if carved by invisible heat. The marks glowed faintly, spiraling toward his palm, the light pulsing in time with his heartbeat. The hum that followed wasn't mystical so much as physical—like air vibrating under strain.
With a snarl, he thrust his hand forward, and a blast of compressed force erupted from his palm.
It wasn't fire, not light, but a violent discharge of energy, air compressed and released in a single destructive pulse.
The impact tore through the clearing, sharp enough to sting my eyes.
I warped sideways, space bending in a ripple, and the blast hit the ground where I'd been standing a heartbeat before.
The detonation struck with brutal precision. Soil and stone erupted upward, gouging out a shallow crater that still smoked at the edges. It didn't have the overwhelming devastation of [Inferno Lance], but the control was unmistakable—tighter, sharper.
