Nicholas's body blazed with golden symbols that pulsed like miniature suns embedded in his flesh. The runic marks weren't simply glowing—they were singing, each symbol resonating with harmonics that made the ancient training ground's stones hum in sympathetic vibration.
"Now pay attention," Nicholas said, his voice carrying undertones that suggested power operating on scales that exceeded normal magical theory.
Nicholas raised his hand and began drawing in the air itself. Golden lines followed his finger's movement, hanging in space like molten metal cooling into geometric perfection. The symbols he traced weren't from any contemporary magical tradition—they belonged to something older, more fundamental.
Three massive fire suns materialized from the runic script, each one containing enough thermal energy to melt fortress walls. They launched at Klaus with trajectory that eliminated any possibility of evasion within the training ground's confines.
