The fan sliced through the air like a scream dressed in silk. A streak of pink light arced forward, sharp enough to hum, and when it connected with the creature, it was as if the mountain itself recoiled. The air split open, the mist tearing apart under the sheer pressure of the strike. For one breathless instant, Isabella saw it—the false Glimora's body cut perfectly in half, its insides not red, not flesh, but shadow spilling like smoke.
It didn't die normally. It folded. Its head twisted backward, mouth splitting wider than before, laughter spilling out until it gurgled into silence. Then it collapsed into dust—ash and black mist—disappearing before her eyes. The sound of it vanishing was sickeningly soft, like a sigh escaping a corpse.
Then—silence.
No wind. No footsteps. Nothing.
Even the mountain seemed to stop breathing.
