As the Spectral Wyvern dives, its eyes glowing with aggressive Indigo Aether, Madara plants her feet on a jagged ice floe. She ignores the bombardment of Salome's Magigrams. She focuses entirely on the beast's internal equilibrium.
She begins to hum. It isn't a scream this time; it is a low, rhythmic thrumming that mimics the heartbeat of a nesting world turtle.
The frequency bypasses the Wyvern's armor and goes straight to its brain.
The Effect: The Wyvern's wings don't fail; they simply lose their "will" to flap. Its pupils dilate, and its aggressive shriek turns into a long, sleepy yawn. The beast begins to glide in a lazy, uncontrollable spiral toward the snow.
Salome screams in frustration, her Magigrams flickering as her mount begins to doze off mid-air. "Wretched insect w3n€#! Wake up!"
Salome abandons the mount, hovering in the air using her own Elven flight runes. She weaves a massive A-Grade "Sun-Lance" Magigram, protected by three layers of complex Lock Runes. In her mind, these locks are unhackable—formulated by the greatest minds of Aethelgard.
Oba Zimbila looks up. He doesn't move. He doesn't chant. He simply vibrates his horn at a frequency that mimics the "Universal Key."
To Salome's horror, her Lock Runes don't just break—they turn green. The security codes she spent decades mastering are rewritten in a millisecond. The "Sun-Lance" she was building suddenly swivels around and points its lethal tip at her throat.
Zimbila steps forward. His obsidian fore wings open up as his hind-wings—the leaf-like, Prismatic White wings—unfurl to their full, terrifying 30-foot wingspan. He dwarfs the party, his shadow covering the entire gorge.
He begins a high-intensity vibration. It isn't a sound; it's a localized erasure of physics.
Every Magigram in a five-mile radius simply winks out of existence. Salome's flight runes dissolve, her staves lose their glow, and even Thrain's mechanical glider shuts down.
Without their Aether-crutch, the "Slayers" become nothing more than falling bodies. Thrain and Salome tumble toward the soft snow of the gorge, their "Ninth Stellar" titles and "S-Grade" gear rendered useless by the King's presence.
Kaelen stands over the spot where they are about to land, his lead club resting on his shoulder. He didn't need a "Slayer-grade" weapon. He just needed the King to level the playing field.
Tari lands softly next to him, his staff still spinning as it slows down. He looks up at Zimbila, who stands like an obsidian statue amidst the falling snow, his Prismatic wings glowing with the light of a thousand suns.
"You seesee that, Prophetess?" Kaelen rumbles as Salome hits the snow at his feet, her expensive robes stained with slush. "There's always a bigger fish, and even the Leviathan is not too big for the ocean."
The two Slayers are captured. The "Unchained" now have the Architect's tools (Thrain) and the Church's secrets (Salome). But more importantly, the path to the Apex of Qivittoq is finally clear.
Oba Zimbila turns toward the highest peak, the place where the sky meets the stars.
"The Slayers were the distraction," Zimbila resonates. "The 'Sinking Pillars' are reaching the Hive. We must sing now, or Kushvanipad falls."