The instant those words left Ignis's mouth, the courtroom exploded into blinding radiance and bone-chilling cold.
A thunderous boom followed.
By the time the Banes' eyes adjusted to the overwhelming light, what they witnessed sent shock and horror racing down their spines.
Where Ignis had been kneeling moments ago, a massive crater now scarred the marble floor—its surface spider-webbed with frozen cracks and scorched lightning marks.
Ignis lay embedded at its center, his body slammed deep into the ground, breath forced violently from his lungs.
Standing over him were two figures.
Each had planted a foot upon Ignis's chest, pinning him like a condemned criminal before execution.
One was Aurelion.
His icy white sword rested against Ignis's throat, so cold that beads of blood drawn by the blade had already frozen solid before they could fall. A killing intent sharper than steel poured from him, suffocating the air itself.
The other was Taranis.
