Ezra looked up, but all he could see was the white light still covering the arena around him.
The brightness had not completely faded yet.
It hung over the battlefield like a thin curtain, making the broken platform and the figures beyond it difficult to see clearly. The white flames still burned across the ground, spreading through the cracks that had been carved into the platform.
Ezra glanced slightly to his sides.
White flames were burning only a short distance from him.
They were strange.
Unlike Maxwell's Golden Flames, which had disintegrated everything they touched, these white flames did not seem to carry the same destructive heat.
They looked almost gentle.
The warmth coming from them was enough for Ezra to feel it against his skin.
Yet the moment one of the white flames touched one of his remaining bullets, the projectile disappeared.
It was erased almost immediately.
And when another patch of white flame reached him, however, nothing happened.
