“I have some advice for you,” Betal said, his voice as cold as an arctic storm. “If you are going to kill someone, don’t gloat about it…” Betal forced the ball of white-hot light into the young man.
The priest exploded. Flames bathed the walls, floor, and ceiling, turning them black. The nearest wall blasted away into the next room and part of the ceiling crumbled down. But none of it touched Betal. He sat at the center of that ball of death, unscathed.
“Just do it,” he whispered into the empty, silent hallway.