The ground around us cracked and smoked from the impact. A crater spread beneath my feet, dust swirling in the air. And at the center of it, Malcolm Holt groaned, slowly rising to his feet.
His face twisted in fury.
His black robes, once neatly pressed, now hung tattered and scorched. He was lean and tall, his silver-streaked hair was frayed. His eyes locked onto mine, rage brewing behind them.
"You dare…" he hissed, wind spiraling around his body. "I'll make you regret interfering."
From above, Gary Field descended, landing beside me with a heavy thud. He was broader in build, bronze-skinned with close-cropped hair and sharp brown eyes. His spear spun once in his hand before settling in a firm grip.
He gave me a side glance. "Nice entrance."
"I try."
Malcolm growled, his body rising slightly into the air as violent winds began to churn around him. The dust vanished in a swirl, blown away by the pressure.
"You're both dead," he said coldly. "I won't be kind today."
