"Please," he gurgled. The word came out wrong. His tongue had blistered. "Please—"
The fire reached his eyes and it didn't even take seconds before they burst.
First, the whites began to simmer, turning from white to yellow to brown. Then the irises boiled. The man's scream had already died in his throat, replaced by a helpless, throaty choke. His pupils seemed to shrink, then swell, then collapse inward as the jelly inside his skull turned to steam.
pop pop
The sound was small—a soft double-pop. But everyone in the corridor heard it. The soldier behind him—the one who had reached for his sword—turned and vomited onto the floor.
The burning man made no more pleas. His mouth opened and closed, but the sounds that came out were no longer words. His hands had curled into fists, his armor plate now glowing cherry red as the burning reached fever point.
The smell was even more bizarre. Roasted meat. Burnt hair. Piss. Shit.
Julian watched without blinking.
