From beneath the arena, where the ignition rune had fallen and violet-black aether bloomed, a single eruption followed—terrifying in its finality.
A dazzling giant mushroom cloud exploded upward, and from the balcony, Seraphina's breath caught in her throat.
Her hand gripped the railing so hard her knuckles turned white, eyes locked on the apocalyptic swirl tearing into the heavens.
The air shimmered with heat, pressing against her skin like a furnace blast.
Stone flew outwards, hurling jagged fragments of marble and shattered iron into the crowd.
A spear-sized shard impaled a bannister inches from a noble's face, while splinters of tile slashed across silk-robed courtiers now screaming in pain.
The sound—if it could be called sound—was a resonating shockwave that struck through bone and soul alike, a chime of doom.
It shredded the sky.
Guards and nobles immediately took cover behind the railings in a hurried panic, avoiding the flying projectiles of debris.
