Every eye in the chamber turned skyward as hundreds of ice lances hung suspended like an executioner's blade poised above the entire assembly. The crystalline weapons gleamed with malevolent beauty, each one perfectly formed and radiating cold that made breath visible in rapidly cooling air. Their positioning defied comprehension—rather than targeting the demons or Sabrina exclusively, Klaus had aimed his devastating technique at everyone present.
Fear rippled through the surviving nobles who had abandoned their escape attempts to stare upward in terror. Lord Ashworth's face had drained of all color as he calculated the mathematical impossibility of survival should those weapons fall. Duchess Valmont clutched her ceremonial pearls with trembling fingers, her diplomatic composure shattered by proximity to power that transcended human understanding.
