Versus the author

The stone constituting the walls chipped.

The air thickened to the point breathing in it became harder than drowning in molten metal.

A scorching sensation crept its way up to the spider's hair, further enhancing his reluctant gesture.

"Doubt?" He half-asked.

The morbid cluster of rage that accumulated since Uther's death was ready to explode.

One glance on the side, and another tremor reverberated in the palace. One entire panel was consecrated to possible scenarios revolving around the purpose of the late Lancelot. 'Early', the only word that covered the others was meant to obliterate any of the plans underneath.

In a plausible utopia where Arthur would've remained apathetic, and lethargic to his mentor's death, the dozens of easy ways they had to disguise the man's lack of reaction or on the contrary, help Arthur crack the heavy armor that protected the omnimancer's heart, all of it violently stormed its way in the boy's brain.