Under the cold veil of the thick ice dome Ivana conjured with her twin frost-laced fans, silence fell—an ethereal hush encasing her and the downed werewolf in a dome of swirling, bluish-white mist and frost. No sound escaped, no vision pierced its walls. The jagged, semi-translucent walls glistened, forming a six-sided prism of absolute isolation. Inside, the temperature dropped instantly, frost creeping across the floor beneath their feet. Crystals formed on the tips of the werewolf's blackened claws, but Ivana paid it no mind. Her dark eyes glinted with the purpose Deus had instilled in her.
She summoned the ghost-like beast soul [Invade]. The white-cloaked phantom emerged with glowing, pupil-less eyes, emitting a hollow, bone-chilling whisper as its form melted into hers. In an instant, she closed her eyes and her mind sunk deep—slipping seamlessly into the subconscious domain of the werewolf.
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The world changed.
