Maelor let his warped face stay warped. He only cut his eyes sideways, staring coldly at the young man who kept interrupting him. There was no pain in that look—just irritation, like Ethan's "manners" were the real offense.
Then he shifted the dragon-horn sword into his left hand.
One horizontal sweep.
The blade carved from left to right, and the wind power along its path bloomed into a broad arc. The inner edge of that slash aimed straight at Ethan's waist—clearly trying to cut him clean in half. The outer spread of wind surged past Ethan and washed over every storm core nearby.
That swing wasn't only meant to kill.
It was meant to harvest.
Just before the edge touched Ethan's body, an energy sphere inside him detonated early. The force shoved him from the inside out, popping him off the blade's line.
The next second, Ethan was back beside the others.
He'd dodged the cut.
The thousands—no, tens of thousands—of tiny storm cores around them weren't so lucky.
