While Gwen held the remaining assassins paralyzed, pinned flat against the obsidian floor by the suffocating, divine gravity of her white-hot presence, one wounded attacker managed to move. He had been thrown into the deep shadows near the cedar hearth by Kaelen's initial defensive strike, and now he dragged himself up onto his knees. His green silk cloak was scorched and ragged, his iron respirator mask completely shattered down the center, exposing a face twisted into a mask of pure, vindictive malice. His breath came in ragged, wheezing gasps as his eyes darted around the superheated hall, realizing with absolute certainty that their desperate coup had completely failed.
Then, his bloodshot eyes landed on the children.
