He raised his staff and called upon all he had. The runes along its length burned a hard green as he planted it before him in the skies.
"I will stop you here!" Harel shouted, voice carrying on the currents he commanded. "Your senseless rampage ends right here and now! [Tempest of a Hundred Blades]!"
Mana surged through his limbs. The spell came to him clean and practiced. Wind gathered, dense and obedient, wrapping his body in a rotating mantle as he cast.
The black armored figure's right hand - aimed straight at Harel - began to close.
The archmage sucked in a sharp breath.
The air refused to follow his command as seamlessly as it had before. His lungs strained against invisible resistance, so much so that the chant nearly broke. His staff shook in his grip.
He forced it through anyway.
The spell completed with a thunderous pull. Wind roared outward from him, a crushing array of blades meant to tear flesh from bone. For a heartbeat, it moved as he willed.
Then it slowed.
