The white light of the Titan's cannons didn't just strike; it consumed. For a heartbeat, the summit of the ridge was gone, replaced by a searing void where reality seemed to melt. But as the glare faded, Clevatess was still there, suspended in the center of the vacuum. He had woven the silver threads into a microscopic lattice—a cage of Absolute Zero so fine it didn't block the heat, but filtered it, letting the solar energy pass through the gaps while he remained in the frozen center of the weave.
His midnight-black tunic was now scorched at the edges, and his raven-feather mantle had been reduced to a few charred quills, but his eyes were like cold, violet diamonds. He had used the Titan's own energy to jumpstart his failing mana, the gold embroidery on his sleeves now glowing with a dangerous, overcharged brilliance.
You move like a mountain, Clevatess said, his voice ringing through the hollow chest of the giant. But a mountain is just a collection of small stones.
He lunged forward, not with a fist or a blade, but with the silver thread still gripped between his fingers. He moved through the giant's space with the precision of a master tailor, his body a blur of shadow against the iron. He wasn't attacking the armor; he was sewing. Every time he passed a joint of the Titan's limb, he looped the thread around a hydraulic piston or a glowing solar vein.
The Titan roared, its massive hand swinging in a slow, crushing arc to swat him out of the air. Clevatess dove through the gaps in the iron fingers, trailing the silver line behind him like a kite string. With every pass, the thread tightened, infused with the Absolute Zero that began to crystallized the "blood" of the machine.
What are you doing? the Titan bellowed, its movements becoming sluggish as the silver frost began to seize its internal gears. You are a king, not a seamstress!
I am both, Clevatess replied, reaching the center of the giant's chest where the Lost Hopes were trapped. And every garment has a seam that can be ripped.
He grabbed the end of the silver thread and pulled with all the zeal of a man reclaiming his home. The lattice he had woven around the Titan's body snapped taut. The iron didn't just break; it unraveled. The silver threads acted like saws of ice, slicing through the sun-glass veins and the rusted plating.
The Titan's chest cavity split wide, and for a moment, the world was silent as the souls of the north prepared to pour out into the cold.