Streams of brilliant lightning crackled dangerously in the subterranean ampitheatre, the sound echoing dangerously through the air intertwined with the sweet subtle scent of ozone.
A moment later, Emily hit the cold stone floor on her side, the impact knocking the air from her lungs with a harsh gasp.
Where her head had been a quarter of a second earlier, a lance of jagged white brilliance scorched the ancient masonry, blowing a crater several inches deep into the granite and showering her face with tiny, razor-sharp stone splinters.
You placed your weight on your left heel before the thought of the attack even crossed your mind," Merlin Hale Crest said, his voice flat and perfectly level.
He stood a few feet away from her in the center of the sunken dueling circle, his hands folded loosely behind his back.
"You decided to dodge before you evaluated the trajectory of that attack. That is not instinct, Emily. That is panic."
