The Demons remained farther out, black corruption rolling from them in slow tides.
They hovered above his ice with the effortless arrogance of beings for whom gravity had become an old childhood problem. Some remained hundreds of meters overhead, others changed altitude whenever they pleased, forcing Phei to raise ice beneath himself or bend frozen currents through the air if he wanted comparable positioning.
He was not flying; though, while Phei could control enough ice to build himself a throne in the clouds, create a staircase across half of Anarctica or carry himself upon a rising glacier, but if the ice beneath him vanished, gravity would still remember his address unless he void stepped away.
The World Transcendents did not possess that inconvenience.
"Show-offs," he muttered.
Eira glanced down. "Master?"
Consort stood on the opposite side of the battlefield.
