Gaia casually slung the arm onto a flat rock. She raised one hand and played a terrible, burning light—just like Sam’s light—up and down the arm.

She wasn’t destroying, though: she was cooking.

“No, no, no!” the man screamed. “Ahhh! Ahhh!”

“He’s going to die, Gaia!”

“Possibly,” Gaia said, evaluating the cooked arm.

Light, Chapter 4