The three classmates were utterly paralyzed by Isiah's appearance, deeply unsettled by the terrifying display of magic surging through his weak frame. They knew something was fundamentally wrong with the scene unfolding before them, but their minds couldn't make sense of it.
Every instinct screamed at them to run the moment they saw his body engulfed in living fire, yet their inflated pride held them rooted to the spot. Right to the bitter end, their arrogance whispered that they were superior to him; after all, Isiah Duncan was the pathetic loser who had never cast a single spell in his entire life.
Isiah continued to advance toward them with slow, agonizing steps. He wasn't walking slowly as a psychological tactic to terrify them; his frail, neglected body was simply struggling under the sheer weight of the sudden divine overload. Moving a single limb felt like wading through thick mud. Yet the raw, terrifying malice burning in his eyes made him look like an unstoppable force.
