The screams had died down.
Not because the pain had subsided, but because Vaelith's vocal cords were no longer intact.
The destructive energy—Alex's signature magic—had long since burned through his shoulder and was now slowly gnawing at his ribs, spine, and consciousness.
The man was in pain and horrified as his gaze kept quivering.
'I-I'm going to die!' Vaelith panicked, fearing his impending demise.
And Alex, as if reading his thoughts, smiled wider.
The rest of the crowd had gone silent, afraid to breathe or blink, scared to draw any attention toward themselves.
Not even the rustling leaves of the great world tree in the far distance dared to make a sound.
Thranduil stood frozen, sword in hand, still sheathed, sweat pouring down his temple.
His instincts screamed at him to run, teleport away, and escape while he still could, but his body refused to move as crushing fear held him in place.
