Adam gripped the hilt of Priscilla, the Magic Sword emerging fully from the shadowy portal beneath him like a phoenix being reborn into frozen hell to cleanse the filth.
The blade itself was a mesmerizing paradox, a core of roaring, eternal flame encased in an unyielding sheath of crystalline ice that shimmered with an otherworldly blue hue.
The air around it warped subtly, heat and cold coexisting in a delicate, impossible harmony that defied all meaning physics.
To Adam, it weighed nothing more than a feather, its supernatural essence syncing perfectly with his worthy hands. But to the cryo-kinetic slugs encroaching upon him, it was a harbinger of annihilation.
The nearest slug, a massive beast the length of a bus, lunged first. Its segmented body undulated through the snow, propelled by rippling waves of cryokinetic energy it body naturally produces, that froze the ground in its wake.
