Streetlight

393 closed his eyes, power surging through him, crackling in his veins. He heard a scream and his eyes opened. The Orc's arm had dropped but he was shaking it violently. The club was still in his hand, or rather, part of it was. It had somehow become white hot, the iron had melted and half the club lay in a fast-cooling pool on the ground. The handle was welded to the Orc's hand, bits of it dripping off or spraying into the air as the Orc tried desperately to dislodge it. 393 stared as the Orc ran off, screaming and trying to throw the burning metal away Cajuero watched from a distance. He looked over the ledge that he crouched on, watched the Orc running away in agony. " very good" he whispered " very good"