The shards of the shattered lightning bolt faded into the dirt, dissolving like sugar in hot water, leaving behind only the acrid, stinging smell of ozone and the ringing, absolute silence of a stunned crowd.
Vance stood frozen, his iron rod held aloft, staring at the empty space where his "Thunder Cannon"—a spell that could punch through city gates—had been deleted. He blinked, his eyelids fluttering rapidly. His brain refused to process what his eyes had just seen. Lightning didn't shatter. It burned. It flowed. It arced. It didn't break into geometric shards like dropped glass.
"What..." Vance whispered, his voice trembling, the arrogance draining out of him like blood from a wound. He lowered the rod, the tip shaking. "What kind of trick was that? That... that wasn't a shield."
