In the vast dome drowned in pitch darkness, Alex hung ensnared in a prison of a hundred fine strings, each one a whisper of cold, binding silver brushing against his skin.
The blurred movements of his blades and elemental wrath faded within seconds, dissolving into stillness as the silken strands tightened around him, until motion became impossible and thought began to dissolve into silence.
The strings shimmered like fractured moonlight within the dark enclave, swaying softly around him in unseen air currents. Some were taut as steel, biting into his limbs; others drifted lazily, whispering against his armor like the breath of ghosts.
Alex hung suspended in the shifting web, a sculpture of surrender, a puppet who seemed to have no will of his own.
Silence reigned absolute. Then, breaking through the dark, a single ghostly arrow appeared out of nothingness. Its light flared for the briefest heartbeat, scattering the shadows, then vanished, sinking soundlessly into Alex's chest.
