A 3-foot blade-flare of condensed ice-blue light ripped through the air. It looked thin at first glance, almost delicate, but inside it churned deepfrost power cold enough to freeze the ages and seal all things in ice. Wherever the blade-flare passed, frost formed across the void.
The moving air froze solid. A white ice scar stretched behind it, one that refused to fade, and the cold it left behind cut straight to the bone. The silver longswords along its path touched the blade-flare and froze in an instant.
A heartbeat later, they shattered into powdery ice crystal.
The wandering formation patterns touched the blade-flare next. They locked in ice, snapped apart, and lost the flow of spiritual power that kept them alive. Then the thick formation wall met the same light, and it collapsed with a boom, breaking apart as frost energy spread across the entire field.
Marshal Grey's face went suddenly white. His spirit reeled under the blow, and he poured out his spiritual power in a frantic surge, driving the fly-whisk with everything he had. He reinforced the array eye, bracing it with his life to hold the strike back.
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