Early on in life, every magic user eventually learned a fundamental rule about their power: no matter how strong or devoted you were, it would always fail at some point. Each time Fahl cast a spell, the reason for the issue was obvious; a flickering and fickle thing, his magic required massive quantities of will in order to shove it into a paw or past teeth without it deciding to retreat back to its source. Not much could be done about its nature other than to repeat the action and hope his stubbornness won out this time unlike the last. Maybe, crouched behind stone and having vented a measure of his frustrations out, he could better concentrate now on blasting away at the less molten parts of the golem. If not, what a poor image he would cut, a cowering weakling rather than a mage struggling to wreak havoc upon an enemy.

Whether it was the persistent heat or his efforts manifesting, the jade embedded in his tongue pulsed warmth against the roof of his mouth. If the sensation increased to a scorch, he'd never know since jaws parted in preparation to unleash hell. His head poked around the side of Tourmaline's wall, looking for all purposes like a gawking bystander. At least that was the case until he glared, spat out an insult involving the golem's nonexistent mother, and a blinding white beam headed for its bracers amidst the swirling magma.