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The Terror of Belvon Laire

Belvon Laire stretched out his arms, crimson fury radiating from him. 'Run! Flee!' he demanded with a scowl etched to his face.

‘I will do no such thing!’ Locke shouted, scorching flames bursting from his body, as hot as his temper. Locke and Trys readied themselves in the fighting stance Stag had taught them.

‘Loooocke … Tryyyys … ruuun.’ Arla’s voice was almost a whisper.

‘Not anymore, Arla,’ Trys said. ‘We’re not running.’ She stretched out her legs and got into a ready position, elbows raised and knife pointed out in front of her.

Belvon Laire whipped off his cloak. ‘Then you shall have it!’ He threw his polearm of blood at Locke in a powerful overarm swing. Trys pushed him out of the way and stood in front of its path, smiling as the polearm burst seamlessly through her, where it then crashed into the ground and broke into a pool of blood that stretched across the water.

Locke focused his mind. Are you ready?

‘Ball of Scorch!’ The ball of fire shot at Belvon
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