Kaelen smoothed down the rumpled front of his hemp robe with both hands.
Ahead of him, the barrier of lightning and permafrost groaned under another astronomical cleave.
The three-hundred-foot Grand Flame-Marshal Construct swung its twin sixty-foot greatswords in an unbroken blur of violence. Every impact sounded like a bronze bell tolling inside a collapsed mine, showering the protective dome in blinding sheets of white sparks.
Sera Thorne’s knuckles were white around the shaft of Storm-Pike. Her leather pauldrons were frosted over with ice, and her breathing came in short, ragged gasps.
Beside her, Mina Vance stood with her teeth clenched, her delicate hands trembling as she channeled her crystalline permafrost barriers to absorb the downward shockwaves.
Claire Vance adjusted her spectacles with a soot-stained sleeve, her Spirit Scholar compass spinning so violently that the bronze needle whistled.
“The structural integrity of our seal has dropped below eighteen percent!” Claire shouted over the din. “The construct’s kinetic output is accelerating! His internal furnace is entering its third thermal surge!”
“Kaelen!” Sera bellowed over her shoulder, not daring to shift her footing an inch. “If you are quite finished napping, we could use some assistance before my arms detach!”
