Lightning crackled in Desmond's palms, weaving its scalding arcs into a purple javelin that thrummed with power. He raised it overhead, his eyes narrowed on the roots shooting at Adam's exposed flank to feast on his vitality like toxic leeches smelling fresh blood. One shot, three roots. He had to succeed.
"I'm not abandoning you since you didn't!" With a roar, he hurled the javelin with all his mana-enhanced strength. However, he was a mage. Physical strength was only a supportive tool.
With a wave of his palm, three lightning circles formed in the projectile's path. They sparkled, not in purple, but in humming blue, and when the javelin drilled through the first circle, the humming turned into a roar quickly overwhelmed by a thunderclap.
Blue lightning arcs spread like cracks in the very air as the javelin's speed doubled three times.
