Magnus Heat

	Around Surt, flames began to swirl. The firestorm spiralled outward, melting cars to slag heaps, liquefying the asphalt, popping rivets from the bridge like champagne corks.
	I’d only thought it was warm before. Now Surt was really turning up the temperature.
	Hearth slumped against the railing about thirty feet away. The unconscious pedestrians and trapped motorists wouldn’t last long either. Even if the flames didn’t touch them, they’d die from asphyxiation or heat stroke. But, for some reason, the heat still didn’t bother me.