Thankfully, Axiolis was there to ask the question that Zeff couldn’t. ‘Parson, what are you saying?’
Parson abruptly stopped flying. “I’m saying... well, I’m sure you’ve been wondering, right? Why all of this suddenly happened to you and your family? Why it seemed like the Vanguard just betrayed you out of nowhere? What I’m saying is... it was me. I fabricated the entire incident with Gema’s apparent treason and subsequent disappearance. I mean, she’s good, but there’s no way she could’ve avoided the Vanguard this whole time without a bit of help from someone with clout, right?”
Zeff shut his eyes. He focused on the old well as he listened. Focused on his anger and hatred and everything wrong with the world. Focused on what he needed.
“Well, Zeff? Do you understand what I’m saying? I set this all in motion. Oh, but perhaps you’re still wondering why? Like I said earlier, there are multiple reasons, really, but the primary reason is because you have wicked blood in you. And even though I don’t have a problem letting you live--because I know you’re a good guy--I still can’t really take that same risk with your children. They could become real problems when they get older, see? So I have to make sure they die before that happens--preferably without being labeled a child killer, myself. For the greater good, you--”
But by now, Zeff had stopped hearing him. And for the third time that day, he felt it. The response. Fiercer, perhaps, than ever in his life. The old well was gone. It had exploded, and now a volcano of steam and water resided there in its place.
A wave of power and clarity coursed through him, urging him onward, telling him to do something impossible.
The air currents held him fast, even more so than before, preventing the slightest movements of his arms and legs and neck and back, preventing even his lungs from contracting.
But he could still move his face. He could still blink. So that’s where he poured his concentration.
A huge volume of water materialized. But it was all packed into a single point. He didn’t press his soul into it, but he did press as much velocity into it as he could possibly muster. And for the direction in which the water would move, Zeff chose all of them. Three hundred and sixty degrees.
The result, just as he’d imagined, was an explosion.