A Headstrong Youth
Part 7
“I have more power than you can imagine,” the other snarled, his continuous smirk rendering his expression wild.
“Used only for killing. You’re unworthy of your power, Mirrhe.”
The other’s face twisted, hinting that Joren had guessed right. Having now cast away all pretenses, Joren unstoppered the flask in his hand and the loud shrill of outpouring sunlight escaping its mystical confinement did not manage to swallow the creature’s scream of agony as the bright wave crashed upon him.
Joren hid his eyes with one arm as hot radiated from the flow. He grunted with the effort of keeping the small vial steady. He remembered what Yavan had told him about it, how hot it became as well as how very difficult to control it was. He had underestimated both features by far. It felt as though the glass itself would melt or fly from his hand at any moment. His hand was going to be sore for days despite the thick leather that his gloves were made of…
All the while, Mirrhe screamed and under the onslaught of pure light, the forest’s uncanny gloom and its fundamental disregard of worldly conventions shattered. When the flow of bottled sunlight finally dimmed, Joren was not as blinded as he expected for there was no longer the unnatural dimness to provide substantial contrast. It was as though a heavy blanket had been lifted away, letting the true day filter through.
It did not last.