“BLAST” in italiano

His guts twisted, threatening to blast forth every meal he’d eaten in days.

At the end of the grisly line, it appeared a concussive blast had been unleashed, pulping the bodies of ten narjags, knocking over several trees, and blasting huge chunks of stone a score of paces away.

The blast she’d shielded him from.

A second blast hit him close behind her.

Her friend from Bridges I, Mama, had fallen victim to a terrorist attack, and Middle Knot City had been wiped off the map in a nuclear blast.

The Taiytakei around the cannon were pulverised and the blast picked up and shook every sled within a hundred yards, flinging them through the air, shrugging off riders to crash to the yard or the walls or fall screaming to the all-devouring storm-dark a mile below.

She could blast her tunes and scream and shout, and she wouldn’t feel depressed.

His men were lined up and ready to blast these two niggahs all the way back to Africa.

I can blast apart magical shields and wards, but if it’s a trap like Feyre and Amren faced at the Summer Court, I can’t sense it.

Amren had curled herself into an armchair, bundled in a gray fur coat, as if the nip in the air today were a blast of winter.

The drowned circled outside, those that had recovered from the blast attempted to get within, but there was some barrier they could not breach, and they clawed helplessly at the edge of the water with their bony fingers and puffed corpse flesh, dead jaws snapping their frustration.