With both hands, you take hold of your heart's burning strength. Every drop of blood-pumping power writhes between your fingers as you pour it all out into a single attack. All the firepower in your body converges to a single point against your palm as you draw your arm back like a taut bowstring.
As the overhead sun reaches its zenith and your struggling heart finally gives out, your strength finds sure footing on solid ground. Arm snapping forward like a loosed arrow, unbidden words spring from your lips as you lay a fresh name upon this newborn Finale.
Thermic Reckoning!
Twin trails of warmth trickles down the sides of your neck as a constant spray of vision-protecting sparks fall from your eyes. From your enemy-facing palm erupts a house-tall jet of raw, unrefined and completely unregulated heat. There is no sound, for your ears no longer work—such is the sheer level of noise produced by the wall of flash-boiling air.
The beam of super-heated orthstirr streaks across the space in a span of a handful of heartbeats, leaving rippling rings of boiling shock waves in its wake. It isn't so much something you follow visually as it's something you feel, something you experience in the moment and only after its passing do you realize what happened.
Still, to his credit, despite the raw magnitude of the attack, Hooknails tries his best to defend himself. With less then a heartbeat before the beam reaches him, he crosses his arms before his slack-jawed face as he prepares to meet his forefathers.
