The private training hall Isaac booked was a sprawling, subterranean chamber lined with dense, shock-absorbing runic plating. At current, it was also a freezing hellscape.
The ambient temperature had plummeted well below zero. The air itself was thick with suspended ice crystals that cut into Vane's lungs every time he inhaled. His dark hair was frosted white, and his breath plumed in heavy, ragged clouds.
Vane pivoted on his right heel, driving his star-steel spear forward.
He channeled the Usurper, igniting the Silver Fang. The conceptual edge of kinetic severance tore through the freezing air, aiming directly for Isaac's center mass.
Isaac did not blink. He didn't even step back. The Ice Mage simply raised his left hand, his pale blue eyes calculating the exact trajectory and kinetic force of Vane's strike in a fraction of a millisecond.
A jagged, perfectly angled pillar of absolute zero frost erupted from the runic floor.
