I was heading for a gap between two streams of fire when they ignited with the purple flame. It was as though the streams of fire were gas, and the gas had been ignited. With momentum already in play, I could only drop my forcefield, stop flying, stop using my aura, and let myself sail through the area.

Knees tucked to my breastplate, hands inside my hood, at the back of my head, elbows shielding my face, my hood pulled down, I hurtled through the purple fire. I was in a cannonball tumble, and felt the wash of heat around me. It was blinding in its brightness, so close to me, and the rest of the world was pitch darkness.

Setting fire on fire.

I opened my eyes, and the world was spinning around me as I tumbled head over heels through the darkness, still in the cannonball pose, still with none of my powers active. With the surroundings being as dark as they were, I had only glimpses of the world, of the swathe of orange-yellow and purple-red fire, of stark spotlights, of the lights inside apartments and windows.

I used the sea of purple fire to orient myself, the dots and slices of yellow and orange serving as my position-reference for where the apartments and staff buildings were, and put everything into that perspective frame.

I lurched to the side as if by some telekinetic force, found nothing recognizable, and glimpsed another sea of fire, of red and orange. Fear stabbed me in the chest as I tumbled through a world that made no sense. The sea of purple I’d seen before was dissipating, breaking up, and a wall of fire loomed before me, pulling me toward it with an insane, inviolable force.

I forced my frame of reference to shift again. I’d had everything the wrong way around. The sea of purple fire had been the residual fire from Lung’s attack, the dots of yellow and orange just sparks in the air, not the faces of buildings. A moment of dizziness, of disorientation and limited lighting.

In the moment that I made sense of the world again, I could confirm to myself that there was no purple fire near me. I used my flight to stop falling, and flipped myself around to the right orientation. My heart pounded. I was in a place where the air was cold.

I could smell burned fabric, but I wasn’t on fire. I had to check myself twice before settling on the conclusion that I was alright.

Lung’s focus was consumed with Goddess, now. She was dismantling the entrance building of the prison, using the components to mount her attack. Beams, chunks of rubble, volleys of—the slivers or spikes from before. They were pulled from concrete. Rebar.