But in consolation for the lack of touch, before, she'd been able to see the steady rise and fall of his chest. Now there was none of that. Her eyes were sharp, the eyes of a hunter. If there was the slightest sign of movement she would have caught it. Yet, no matter how much she stared, there was nothing there but a frightening stillness, as Beam lay in his own blood. Far too much blood.
Nila couldn't answer him.
"Gods… What the hell is that?"
Francis' earlier proclamation had started a storm of mana. It was powerful enough to influence the air. It felt like a cold breeze. The villagers had largely ignored it, for such minor things escaped their perception now, in the midst of a hellscape.
A spell was a spell all the same though, even if ignored. With the magic available at Francis' disposal, and the overwhelming amount of mana, he found that he could conjure his will without even chanting a spell's true name, despite its glaring lack of inefficiency.
