The buzzing noise was a unnerving. But the sight of one thousand black specks flying in a coordinated mass to her made Morrigan’s mouth drop. The flashing of her crescent-shape pendant was enough to kickstart her senses.

  “I can handle this!” Morrigan said. Her hand still holding Carol’s, Morrigan stood between her and the rolling wave of insects.

  Morgan thrust her freehand out, centering it on the swirling mass. She concentrated all the heat she had into her outstretched hand, careful to not sitting towards Carol. Then she began to chant.

  “Essence of man,” Morrigan winced, the shortened evocation, sending a surge of heat directly to the palm of her hand and spreading out to her fingers. The spike in heat was like grabbing an hot iron, and choosing to hold onto it for several seconds.

  “Flame craft: flying embers!” Morrigan said, finishing the chant. A ring of fire formed in front of her outstretched hand. The loop was thick, and the flames kicked several inches high into the air. The heat on her hand cooled to a manageable degree, as the flames took shape.

  Three spheres the size of baseballs formed within the hoop. They swirled, at increasing speeds before cometing forward, and smashing into the swarm's body. Flames immolated anything they touched, leaving nothing but open space where flies once were. Radiant heat cooked anything within a two foot radius, dropping signed bodies.

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  The impact left several deep holes in the mass and the smell of baked flies. But that barely did anything to the rolling tidal wave of insects. They were still coming.

  And Carol was hollering in fear. Morrigan could feel the woman tugging, wanting to flee. Morrigan wanted to flee too. She also wanted to comfort Carol, to let her know that everything would be ok.

  But she had to focus. Wielding magic this way was dangerous. Not only could she accidentally burn Carol’s hand or worse if she didn’t direct her spells properly, but she could injure herself. Magic came with a price after all. Hers was that she too felt the heat. Not the same as those on the receiving end, but she could easily turn herself into a human candle, burning herself away like wax to the flames.

  Morrigan concentrated her breathing. She stepped forward, as if being tugged by a rope at her navel. Heat shot up from her belly, to her arms, and then to her hands. She focused the heat to her free hand, steadied her arm, and planted her feet. Bracing for what she needed to do next.

  She knew that you never turn your back on an attacking enemy; not until you made or found an opening for escape. Until then you stood your ground and fought. Fighting tooth and nail optimized the chances of finding a way to escape.

  “Essence of man…” Morrigan’s hand bucked as heat slammed back into her hand. “Flame craft: flying embers. Essence of man: flame craft: flying embers!” Morrigan chanted loudly, repeating herself again and again, and again as the air in front of her glowed with hoops of fire. Each time her hand recoiled from the pain of the quick cast, and each time mini-fireballs blasted away into the swarm.