I can feel the heat that my Skill produces prick on my skin. My armor—as minimum as it is—is heating up, making the clothes underneath let out steam. The pain it causes is minor—to me, someone who has an absurd pain tolerance. I don't even register it as I am too focused on marveling at the beauty of the glaring Magical atomic bomb before me.
The sub-dimension is in Mark's hand—Teanosvera has told me that. The fact that it hasn't crumbled yet means he is still alive. I have mixed feelings about it. I am glad that he didn't die so quick but, on the other hand, I am irked that my skill is not destructive enough to kill him.
The relief that he hasn't died yet, still, outweighs my irritation. As the light dies down, I am thinking about what I will do to Mark to satisfy my morbid sense of satisfaction.
