The explosion was beyond sound. It was a pressure that flattened everything in its path.
The elevated platforms shattered. The marble columns snapped like twigs. The great window behind the council's bench vaporized, and the ceiling above it collapsed in a cascade of stone and fire. Bodies were thrown through the air, limbs flailing, mouths open in silent screams.
Dominic was blasted off his feet.
He hit the ground hard, the Wobbly trait absorbing some of the impact, but not enough. His ears rang. His vision swam. Blood ran from his nose, his ears, a cut above his eye. He tried to rise and couldn't. The world was smoke and fire and the sound of people dying.
When the smoke cleared, the Tribunal Hall was gone.
The walls had crumbled. The roof had fallen. The grand chamber where nobles had sat in judgment was now a broken shell, open to the sky. The city beyond it was burning.
And the lich floated above the ruins, surrounded by the dead.
