Ethan lifted his head, ready to escape upward.
The instant he rose, the airflow above him cinched tight. A tornado formed ahead of time, sealing the route. He turned left—another spinning wind column was already taking shape. Right and below weren't any better. Maelor had planted a tornado in every gap Ethan could've slipped through.
The winds looked like they were waiting for him to come closer.
And in Maelor's direction, the tornadoes were even denser. Several wind pillars sat so close together that their rotational pull overlapped, locking down every direct line that might've reached him.
Ethan dissolved into particles again.
Black grains slid through the narrow gaps between wind columns, probing for a way in from different angles. But every time they neared Maelor, a new tornado appeared on the path first and blew the particles apart.
Once.
Then again.
Ethan kept changing direction, pushing his speed to the limit—and still couldn't get close.
