Corisande's yell was so loud, it rivalled even the screams of the Night Banshees. The pain in it was profound, the heartbreak, the realization that she would never see Corvell again.
It all poured out and pierced the shuddering darkness. And with that yell, she had reached down, furiously navigating into the deepest, coldest part of her mana pool.
Then she activated her sole S-Grade Skill. The ⸢Thread of Fragility⸥.
Right then, for a single, agonizing second, the world seemed to freeze. The violent, swirling mist halted mid-air. The horrific, unhinged jaws of the swooping Night Banshees locked in place.
Even Aethelstan, his face pale and twisted in panic as he blindly swung his broadsword, became a living statue.
From the center of Corisande's chest, a blinding burst of light erupted. Thousands of translucent, glowing threads exploded outward.
Radiant and green, they moved like they were sentient, like raw, living nerves. The threads whipped through the frozen battlefield.
