The lightning sent Mikhail hurtling across the room. He slammed into solid sandstone with a smack that reverberated down into his bones. Black and blue boiled on his back. Shorn slumped to the ground. Smoke roiled from his body. Spots of charred flesh where the tendrils of lightning touched him stood out against his pale skin. The sharp, acrid tang of burnt hair and flesh filled the air, nauseating Mikhail. White hot pain burned through him. A thought occured to him through the blinding pain. He was still naked. Odd, but somehow it bothered him.
His muscles spasmed uncontrollably. His lungs would not draw breath. For three horrible heartbeats Shorn felt himself slowly asphyxiating. He wheezed horribly. He had had more than the wind knocked out of him. At last, he drank in a full gulp of air, putrid though it was with the smell of his own charred flesh, desperation made it sweet.
Mikhail's eyes watered. He blinked away the tears forcefully. He groaned in pain. Slowly, shakily, he rose to his feet. He tottered sideways and stumbled into the wall. One hand pushed against the cool sandstone, propping him up. The lightning attack dissipated his anger, leaving him alone in anguish.
"Is this what you wanted?"
