It would be a mistake to believe that putting myself within the range of the Arcanists instead of fighting them at a distance like a mage was a miscalculation, but the chill of death that was erupting from my body was a plague that drove chill into the bones of those who surrounded me for thousands of meters.
The cold thing in my chest that sat beside my dead heart was pulsing with a rhythm that felt like a heartbeat, and every pulse sent a wave of power through my channels. The souls in the storm were screaming, but their screams were a song, and I was the conductor.
I raised my left hand, and ten thousand threads burst out of it, surrounding the Arcanist near me and driving them into a cage. I snarled, and the sound was like thunder as I fell upon them as a ravenous wolf unleashed on sheep.
