An icy arrow, shimmering with a trace of mysterious space law, began to condense in Apollo's grip. Its aura steadily escalated, radiating a terrifying sense of impending destruction. As the arrow absorbed more power, its essence deepened, as though it were transcending ordinary limits and approaching the pinnacle of perfection.
The surrounding space trembled and warped under the overwhelming force it contained. Minute distortions appeared, and then cracks. Black rifts split the air around Apollo, jagged tears in reality itself, spreading out like creeping vines.
Frost formed along the fractures, the air becoming colder with each passing second. The arrow's very presence seemed to reject the existence of everything around it as if space itself could no longer bear its presence.
