Lynch's figure moved like a phantom, silently weaving through the massive shadows cast by towering bookshelves. He did not deliberately seek battle, but wherever he passed, all magical creations melted away like spring snow.
There was no need for complex spells or gestures—often just a glance, a slight movement of the fingertips, or even a mere change of thought.
Sometimes a frigid mist silently spread, instantly freezing into ice the dozens of books about to spew poison or flames, and then they turned into sparkling powder;
Sometimes, several arcs of silver lightning leapt like living chains, accurately darting into the clusters of books, reducing them to charred remains with a series of faint crackling sounds;
Sometimes, the space itself slightly twisted, and those raging spells hadn't even left their book covers before being twisted into grotesque shapes by an invisible force, then disintegrating;
