Gulag collapsed onto her hands and knees. Blood spilled from her lips onto the ascending bedrock. Her amber core flickered erratically as the Herald's absolute spatial authority crushed her earth magic entirely.
Chris Pitt lowered his hand to casually inspect his manicured fingernails. He glanced down at the struggling commanders suspended thousands of feet in the sky.
"You fight like cornered insects," Chris announced. He pointed his index finger directly at the raging emerald cyclones pinning the Vanguard soldiers to the floating debris. He twisted his wrist clockwise.
A miniature singularity condensed inside the center of Iron-Scale's wind anchors. The anomaly violently swallowed the emerald downdrafts, stripping the soldiers of their secure footholds. Hundreds of armored troops immediately tumbled upward, drifting helplessly toward the freezing upper atmosphere.
