The first of the Federation's "Iron-Clads" hit the snow with the sound of a falling anvil. They were terrifying sights—men encased in brass and steel suits that stood seven feet tall, powered by hissing steam-valves and glowing blue mana-capsules. They didn't carry swords; they carried "Thermal-Lances," weapons that could cut through three inches of solid iron in a heartbeat.
The commander of the vanguard, a man whose face was hidden behind a T-shaped visor of sapphire glass, stepped forward. His voice was amplified by a mechanical diaphragm. "By order of the High Chancellor, all 'Federation Property' is to be returned to the Logos immediately. Any interference from the Argentine locals will be met with 'Lethal Correction.'"
Livius stepped out into the blizzard, his thin duster flapping in the wind. He looked small, almost fragile, against the wall of steel. He didn't have his "Spectral Wings." He didn't have his "Sovereign's Presence." He only had his silence.
"Property?" Livius asked, his voice cutting through the roar of the Dreadnought's engines. "You speak of my kin as if they were gears in a clock. My ancestors were many things—liars, thieves, and murderers—but even they didn't have the stomach to turn a soul into a battery."
"The Oracle-Engine requires data," the Commander replied, his Thermal-Lance humming to life. "Data requires processing. Your 'kin' were the most efficient biological processors ever recorded. You are interfering with the progress of civilization, boy."
"Then let civilization die in the snow," Livius said.
He slammed his hand against the rock wall of the mine entrance. He didn't use his own mana. He used the "Silver Sight" to find the "Leak-Point" in the mine's induction coils. He opened the floodgates.
The unfiltered, raw mana from the mine's depths surged upward. It didn't strike the Iron-Clads directly. Instead, it hit the falling snowflakes. In an instant, the blizzard wasn't just wind and ice; it was a "Mana-Storm." Every flake of snow that touched the Federation's brass armor acted like a tiny, localized EMP.
The Iron-Clads began to seize, their pressurized suits groaning as the mechanical joints locked up. The blue mana-capsules on their backs flickered and hissed, overwhelmed by the chaotic interference of the "Unfiltered" energy.
"Now!" Livius roared.
From the shadows above the mine entrance, the Web-Walkers dropped down. They didn't use daggers. They used "Null-Spikes"—the very tools the Federation had used to seal the glass tanks. They jammed the spikes into the cooling vents of the Iron-Clad suits, causing the pressurized steam to backflow.
The "Invincible Vanguard" was being dismantled by children with their own tools.