Eris stood in the center of the clearing, her boots treading upon earth that had been scorched black amidst the white. She didn't look at the steam or the wreckage of her first kill.
Her gaze was locked on Jorel's unit, thirty yards to her left. A fourth Thraen was closing in on them, its movements jagged and erratic.
Jorel was shouting for his men to reform, but they were stumbling over the icy protrusions Soren had raised. The golem raised a massive, crystalline fist, the blue light in its chest pulsing with a rhythmic, killing hunger.
She gathered her power again. She didn't just want to stop it; she wanted to erase it. She reached deeper than she ever had since arriving in Nevareth, pulling from the fire of the Pyronox, the ancient fire dragon soul bound to her own.
Heat built behind her ribs, an incandescent pressure that made the air around her ripple like a desert mirage. It was more than she had ever dared to summon. It was a sun in her lungs.
Then, she felt it.
