While the bricks, sword, and pole were being tossed about all with little effect, back on the ground, Sun-hop was groaning in pain and the priest was grumbling in prayer.
“O great Throm, strike these heretics and defilers from your house! They dare to disobey your servings! They dare to desecrate your sanctuary!”
The clouds cleared. The sun emerged. A crisp blue sky that went on forever appeared like a flock of peacocks covering a beach of white sand.
A zot of lightning arched through the empty sky, circling on itself then descending onto the roof. The shape of a man, but made of lightning, danced on the rooftime. All at once, he shattered Stylus’s pole, stole Poople’s sword, and disintegrated the brick Quill was about to hurl.
The lightning man folded his arms then became flesh - a tall light yellow skinned man swathed in fluffy white robes.
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