He came in straight—no arc, no angle management, direct approach toward the fighter who had been keeping him at range with gravity for four minutes. The tagged position set at the starting point of the charge. The snap available and ready.
Maldrick raised both hands.
The personal field built around Tyke's incoming path—maximum concentration, both hands feeding the output simultaneously, the gravity pressure building to four-times weight in the space between them. The dark shimmer at his palms went to its deepest point—both hands at their combined peak.
Tyke hit the field at full stride.
The weight crashed down—four times his body weight arriving in an instant, his movement stopping as abruptly as if he had run into a wall, his legs buckling under the sudden increase, his body dropping toward the stone. The impact of his knees against the floor was audible in the nearest sections of the stands.
He snapped back.
