Sylas didn't look at the blood running down his arm, nor did he spare any attention for the deeper tear Tomoe's last attack had left through the flesh beneath it.
His telekinesis was already thrumming through his body, sinking past the ordinary boundary between external force and internal control until his Will began pressing into every Rune, strand of Aether, Gene, and piece of matter that composed him.
The distinctions between those things blurred beneath his perception, not enough that they became identical, but enough that Sylas could feel how easily one could become the foundation for another if his Will dictated the change.
The dead landscape Tomoe had created reacted before his body did.
Thin cracks spread through the world of grey and black like fracture lines racing across a mosaic, and through those tiny separations came sudden flashes of green, blue, violet, and colors that didn't belong to the ordinary visible spectrum.
