But such catastrophic power came with a terrible, absolute cost.
A few moments later, the massive tornado began to destabilize. The howling wind slowed, and the blinding lightning flickered. High Shaman Zephyra was trembling violently atop the watchtower, her skin pale as death, blood leaking heavily from her nose, eyes, and ears. The glowing tattoos on her arms were literally burning her skin, sizzling as the raw essence overloaded her mortal body. The sheer spiritual burden of commanding an atmospheric spell was destroying her body from the inside out.
She tried to hold on with all her might, her knuckles white as bone around her staff, her chanting growing ragged and weak.
But ultimately she couldn't maintain it. The physical vessel of her body was breaking.
The remaining Layer 3 beasts, realizing the trap was failing, roared and began to push forward, ignoring the terrifying winds.
Zephyra knew she was failing. She knew her body was shattering.
