The wave of spells crossed three kilometers in three breaths.
Red fire, purple lightning, ice spears, and blades of wind swirled into a single vortex of color that swallowed the northern horizon. Its heat had already swept across the faces of the soldiers on the wall before its light even arrived. A young soldier dropped his spear onto the stone with a loud clatter. No one scolded him.
Sylvia stepped forward, half a step ahead of Zhaoyue, and opened her palm.
No spell. No magic circle lit up. Only the shadow beneath her feet suddenly lengthened, crept up the parapet, and then burst into hundreds of rusted black chains that shot into the empty air. The Chains of the Abyss spread like giant roots growing upside-down toward the sky, and each strand met a spell.
