The world dissolved into a hurricane of cold.
Lin Tian's step forward was met not with words, but with a silent, crushing wave. The inner disciple simply looked at him, and the air crystallized. A spear of pure, dense frost shot from the pane of ice blocking his path.
He tried to twist away, but his body was slow. The frost spear grazed his already-injured shoulder, and the impact was like being hit by a falling tree. He flew backward, over the railing of the ice bridge.
The chasm opened beneath him, a deep blue maw of shadow and sharp rock. For a moment, he was weightless, the inner disciple's impassive face the last thing he saw above him.
Then he was falling.
No.
He flung his good arm out, his qi surging in a desperate, uncontrolled burst. It slowed his descent for a fraction of a second, just enough to alter his trajectory.
