The giant, crimson-boned skeleton hand trembled above the throne for a moment, its massive, eight-foot-wide palm radiating a malevolent aura. Then, without warning, its fingers curled into a loose fist and, with a sound like stone grinding against stone, it swung back.
Benneca's smile faltered.
BANG!
The hand slammed into her chest—not hard enough to kill her outright, but with a vicious, dismissive force. Her body flew off the throne like a ragdoll, crashing into the far wall with a heavy thud. Dust exploded from the ancient bricks, and she slid to the ground, coughing blood.
The hand didn't linger. Its red glow dimmed in an instant, and the moment its skeletal knuckles touched the ground, the entire monstrous limb dissolved into nothingness—fading as if it had never existed, leaving only a faint echo of power in the air.
Clark's eyes narrowed.
"That's my chance."
