Soon as Mystique hurled the large spike of ice, Nathalie shrieked on top of her lungs as she called Jonathan.
"Jonathan!"
It flew with swiftness and her eyes witnessed how it aimed at his left shoulder; it was a step late when he turned around from the momentum he built up from running as much as he could.
Terror was surfacing in Jonathan's eyes from the impending doom.
With only thought in her mind that it might work for another time, Nathalie reached out to him, intercepting the ice spike that would stab his chest.
When the tip of the ice touched the back of her hand, the smooth crystalline surface jagged when dents and cracks resurfaced, branching in all directions before it exploded to mist.
