Alice swung her sword. The battlefield went into a standstill, time seeming to slow as the arc of her blade traced a path of impending doom.
Not one person dared to utter a sound. The weight of the moment pressed down, hearts pounding in unison with the frozen hush.
They all watched with held breaths, entranced by the attack. Eyes widened in awe and terror, the spectacle unfolding like a nightmare woven from frost and shadow.
Those that were at Alice's side, and those that were against her, all watched with drawn breath.
Allies felt a mix of pride and unease, while enemies sensed the inevitability of their fate, a cold dread settling in their cores.
The sword of Alice wasn't the source of the attack, but the signal for the armageddon that followed.
It gleamed one final time, a beacon unleashing the cataclysm.
From the very feet of Alice, chilly air moved toward the enemy she was facing.
