The magic hits the creature. The spell isn't something formal—it's combined intent, multiplied by desire, put into power. It's far from any exorcism I've heard about.
But it's effective. It smashes into the figure of the Dark Whisperer like a sledgehammer, throwing it back into the abyss it came from. It vanishes into a burst of shadows, but the sunlight soon tears them away.
A grin spreads over my face. It worked! We threw the creature back! We won—so easily!
Too easily. Way too easily.
"It's not over," Zeke says. "It's just—"
I freeze. Not voluntarily, no. My body is beyond my control—even my mind is beyond my control. Every thought has stopped, yet I still can process what is happening around me.
I feel like a sock puppet on a wriggly, squiggly hand.
Next to me, Zeke stares with empty eyes somewhere away. I try to reach him… but even our connection is frozen. Or, more like, the part of him that enabled his connection is frozen.
