Engulfed.
Yes. That was the perfect word to describe what had just happened to him and to the entire arena.
The explosion wasn't the kind that made your ears ring.
Nor was it the kind that sent shrapnel flying or debris raining down.
No.
It was the soundless kind.
The kind that was so bright, so absolute, that it filled every inch of space, consuming sound itself like the void in the far reaches of the universe.
The kind that brought him, King Garick of the Orcs, to his knee.
Knees, even.
It could've consumed him.
And with it came something he hadn't felt in decades—irrational fear for himself, crawling from every pore of his body, chilling him to the bone.
And then, just as suddenly as it came—
It was gone.
As if nothing had ever happened.
And standing there, as if he'd been there all along, was that scrawny guild leader, Luca.
The boy appeared before him in an instant, his presence calm, collected, and terrifying in its simplicity.
