Jorō examined the Glypnir stone, one hand resting beneath her chin, eyes narrowing with mild interest.
"I doubt my [Village Chief Killer] will so much as scratch this," she muttered.
Village Chief Killer? Does she mean that scythe in her hands?
She planted the weapon upright beside her, and it stood on its own, as though obeying her will. Then, she spread her fingers.
I assumed she would strike with her bare hands. But no. I began to feel it—an eerie convergence of energy gathering at her fingertips.
Her red eyes darkened to a deep obsidian, as the dark web wrapping them turned white.
Slowly, she mimed the motion of embracing something invisible, then drew her arms inward.
Only a trained eye would notice it. A mortal's eye would probably not pick up on it… but I saw: threads. Razor-thin webs had begun to wrap around the Glypnir crystal, swiftly.
With each touch, the stone hissed and reacted—like snow seared by hot iron.
