Jeziree M'Bannyon, "Dust"
Sabin Zimnyadova, "Frost"
The sorcerous fire billowed out almost lazily, its flames streaked purple and pink.
Horrifying in its complete silence, the flames neither crackled nor did any sound mark its passage through the air. Its rushing passage through the room even seemed to suck in all the surrounding sound and heat.
A brittle cackling filled the chamber as the unnatural flames spread like a bestial claw to envelop her. She instinctively brought her arms up, even though she knew it wouldn't protect her from the flames.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
And then felt herself flung back.
She hit the permacrete floor hard, a gasp of shock and pain escaping her lips. She opened her eyes, her vision blurred.
She glimpsed a stooped, rail-thin silhouette facing the onrushing wall of the sorcerous fire. A wall of fire that evanesced into motes of light and dust around the figure.
The cackling turned into a piercing howl of anger. The sorcerous flames brightened, glowing brighter in intensity, the permacrete softening and running like wax. And, yet, the flames didn't touch the shadowed figure.
Instead, the flames curled, their path splitting as they rent the air.
She shook her head, not trusting her vision.
The rail-thin silhouette came into focus, despite the glare of the flames. Shoulder length dirty-looking, greyish hair blocked any view of his face. The stoop-shouldered man dressed in faded Guard fatigues and boots stood unflinching before the flames, hands shoved into his pockets.
And, yet, she had the feeling that this man was not so much unflinching and unafraid as he was indifferent and uncaring to the situation he found himself in.
She blinked as she pushed herself upright, pulling her back-up pistol from the ankle holster on her boot.
A ghostly voice spoke up, clipped, quick and devoid of feeling, yet clear against the backdrop of howls and screams. Her eyes widened as she looked at the man ahead of her.
"Hollow bids Dust, hands cross the moon's face, the fla-," the voice began, and then rose in volume as lasbolts flew over his head. "Oh, pike this! 'REE, WHERE THE BLOODY 'ELL ARE YOU!?"