The ghost's shriek wasn't a cry of pain—it was a signal.
The moment Nero's lightning net sizzled around the main distortion, the very air of the rocky clearing seemed to tear. From behind boulders, from cracks in the cliff face, from the shadows under the stunted trees, more patches of deeper darkness peeled away. Dozens of them. A horde of shimmering, semi-transparent ghosts, their forms shifting between human and beastly shapes, eyes glowing with pale, hungry light. They had been lured into an ambush.
The main ghost, weakened by the net, let out another silent pulse. The horde attacked.
Khione acted first. She threw her hands out.
"Permafrost Wave!" A blast of arctic cold washed over the front line of ghosts. It didn't destroy them, but it slowed them. Their ethereal forms grew sluggish, trailing frost crystals. It was like hitting water with cold—it just made it thicker, harder to move through. She could impede, but not destroy.
