The black Verdict pierced through the formation of the Arcanist, dispersing along the way, and the moment its remnants hit the ground, the field of screaming skulls swallowed it up as if it did not exist, and all the remaining power it held poured into me like a tide.
The result of this spell was apparent, as ten percent of the Arcanist had fallen… a number that meant hundreds of these shiny lights had been lost nearly instantaneously.
An Arcanist was hard to kill, but that was only relative to the sort of danger they were facing.
The machines that my spell had touched were slag cooling in craters, and the survivors were now retreating, their formation shattered, their machines destroyed. They had come to stop a storm, and they had found something worse.
I did not pursue them, since that would be me giving away my advantage. The storm was spreading again, the field of skulls was growing, and the cold thing in my chest was pulsing with a hunger that would not be satisfied.
