Harrion's grin buckled for a heartbeat — a slip, like a crack in perfect marble — then twisted back into something cold and inhuman. With a vicious snarl, he hurled Eamond away as if throwing out spoiled meat.
Eamond's vision blurred as he slammed into a shattered pillar. White-hot agony lanced through his spine, and he gasped, air refusing to fill his lungs. Rubble scraped his cheek as he crumpled to the floor, his limbs refusing to obey for a moment.
Harrion flexed his clawed hand, runes crawling and flickering wildly across his arms. He stared at his palm, something sharp and uneasy ghosting through his usually unshakeable grin.
How does such a runt have a mana pull that deep? The thought burned across his mind, a worm of doubt trying to slip through.
He exhaled, forcing calm back into himself, and bared his teeth in a feral grin. No matter. He'll be mine later. Alive.
