Without hesitation, she began to weave again, this time forming a hexagon with her hands. She was grasping at her last hope, trying to summon something, anything,
In a critical moment of raw emotion and instinct, Nana completed her hexagon weave just in time. Her fingers snapped in a surge of mad rage, directed at the man who had gravely injured her father. As she did so, her father's assailant's head exploded in a gruesome spectacle, blood spraying in all directions, painting the snow in a stark contrast of red against white. Her father lay on the ground, groaning in pain, his hands desperately trying to stem the flow of his own blood, his life ebbing away.
