The lightning shield wrapped around Geoffrey shattered on contact.
"You…" he rasped, coughing smoke. "What are you?"
Isaac didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The sky dimmed, not from clouds, but from silence. A heavy, unnatural quiet that settled over the battlefield like a grave. No birds. No wind. Even the swarm froze mid-air, like they were holding their breath.
Then came the voice.
"Geoffrey, panicked, hurled a bolt of lightning.
A blinding spear of light.
Isaac didn't dodge.
He caught it.
Barehanded.
The bolt hissed in his palm, crackling with fury, then fizzled out like wet firewood.
Geoffrey's eyes widened.
Isaac stepped in, fast. Too fast.
He slammed his knee into Geoffrey's gut, lifting him
off the ground, then drove a sickle into his shoulder.
Not to kill.
Just to hear the wet crunch of nerves and bone.
"Too slow," the voice said through Isaac's mouth.
Geoffrey curled on the ground, shaking, coughing sparks.
