The first bolt crossed the sky in a crimson flash.
Its centre was almost white. Branches lashed outward from the descending column, tearing through the clouds before snapping back toward the figure below.
Its pressure reached the ruins ahead of it. The few living things still capable of moving flattened themselves against the ground and coughed out mouthful of blood.
Some lived.
Some died.
Simon watched its approach.
He could move.
That realisation came with a clarity he had never possessed before the evolution. His body could answer quickly enough. A step, perhaps two, would carry him beyond the place the bolt was about to strike.
But leaving that place would not mean escaping the tribulation.
He had dealt with tribulations in his previous life. Running from a tribulation strike had never been the same as surviving the trial, and Lilith had given him no reason to believe this one would be different.
He left the spatial distortion that had stopped Tarvak.
