Vika screams. Her vision goes white, pain lancing through her, the building power surge annihilating her systems, frying her SOUL chip. The only mercy afforded her is that she dies before her body gives out.
A blue-white light envelops her body, swallows the electricity, rips through the steel of her. It expands in a swirl, fast, faster, rising in a tide of near absolute zero. The trees explode faster than they can flash-freeze, but the splinters have nowhere to go in air that's turning to liquid. Everything the light touches stops being, in any meaningful way, matter, and whatever is left halts in a single frozen moment.
Then reality, or something like it, reasserts itself. The frozen air boils in an instant, sending up a titanic, swirling mass of cloud that rises from the dark heart of the woods. The eye of the storm stays fixed there, a perfect, desolate, wintry calm. The rest of Marrow Island gets the answer to a question no one wanted to ask:
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Vika screams. Her vision goes white, pain lancing through her, the building power surge annihilating her systems, frying her SOUL chip. The only mercy afforded her is that she dies before her body gives out.
A blue-white light envelops her body, swallows the electricity, rips through the steel of her. It expands in a swirl, fast, faster, rising in a tide of near absolute zero. The trees explode faster than they can flash-freeze, but the splinters have nowhere to go in air that's turning to liquid. Everything the light touches stops being, in any meaningful way, matter, and whatever is left halts in a single frozen moment.
Then reality, or something like it, reasserts itself. The frozen air boils in an instant, sending up a titanic, swirling mass of cloud that rises from the dark heart of the woods. The eye of the storm stays fixed there, a perfect, desolate, wintry calm. The rest of Marrow Island gets the answer to a question no one wanted to ask:
What if a blizzard was also a hurricane?