Lugh thought he was prepared enough. He was confident he could survive any encounter—and do so without revealing much of his true ability.
But the beastkin was fast. Far faster than he'd anticipated.
Too fast.
He almost couldn't react in time.
Just as he resolved to make a move, willing to sacrifice a chunk of flesh to evade, the air in the hall shifted.
A terrifying pressure descended like a collapsing sky, crushing in its weight, but only for a moment. It vanished as quickly as it came, like a presence viewed from a great distance, here and gone in a blink.
Lugh froze.
Then, the attacker ignited.
A violent whoosh drowned the murmurs. White fire erupted from the beastkin's skin, licking outward in an unnatural blaze. Oily black smoke poured from his body, cloaking the scent of charred flesh with something worse: burning blood, melting eyes, hair and fur fused into an ashen crust.
