The moment the crimson sphere left Vance's fingertips, the world itself seemed to recoil.
The air warped around it, rippling like heat haze over molten stone.
Its core spun with violent intensity, a miniature sun of destructive will, and every rotation produced a keening wail that resonated in the bones of everyone present.
The marble floor beneath it cracked and lifted as if the very ground was being torn toward it, while the chandeliers above rattled and rained sparks.
Even the torches along the walls sputtered and died, leaving the hall shrouded in a gloom illuminated only by the pulsating, murderous light of the Crimson Doom.
As it traveled, its devastation worsened.
The oppressive heat forced the nearest guards to step back with their arms shielding their faces, their skin prickling as if a furnace door had been opened in front of them.
Every meter forward seemed to grow heavier, denser, the air vibrating with lethal promise.
