Lugh had turned his puppet into a suicide bomber, and the result was nothing short of spectacular.
It didn't matter if his opponent's skin was as hard as diamond, the shockwave of an explosion at such close range would be enough to rupture internal organs.
When the dust settled, only charred, dismembered remains were visible amidst the smoke. A turning point in the battle. The second mage had fallen, and it was achieved using mostly mundane means.
Up ahead, the battle raged on with growing ferocity.
The world strained to repair itself, but pale hands clawed from the widening rift, prying apart the cracks in reality. The first of the creatures emerged, a grotesque, mist-shrouded horror with several mouths.
Emrys saw it and felt his mind jolt, but he did not die. He was far too old, and his mastery of magic had reached legendary heights.
These lesser horrors could impede his thinking, disrupt his mana flow, and wreak chaos, but they could not kill him with a mere glance.
