The world snapped back with a violent, shuddering jolt. One moment, Julian was locked in a silent war of annihilation with the violet core, feeling his very existence fray.
The next, a concussive thump of repulsive energy—chaotic, unfiltered, and alien—bloomed from the point of contact and hurled him backwards.
He didn't think; he reacted. Crackling arcs of Lightning erupted from his palms, not to attack, but to arrest his momentum. He grounded the current into the shattered floor, carving smoking grooves as he skidded to a halt twenty feet away, his body screaming in protest.
His first thought wasn't for the battle. His eyes, scanning through the settling crystalline dust and flickering spatial tears, found Fey. She was slumped against the wall where the blast had thrown her, cradling her blistered, smoking arms. A sharp lance of concern, cold and clear, cut through his tactical mind.
