Infliction of Despair
"Hold on–!" Ethan yelled out.
It was impossible to maintain any stable footing to support his own strength in the life-or-death tug-of-war as the grains of blue sand continued to slip beneath his boots. So instead of utilizing magic to directly try and combat the issue engulfing Joel, he conjured stone footholds that shaped around his boots.
These rocky molds were directly rooted in the sand, embedding deep and allowing him to maintain his balance while knelt down, extending his arms and holding on with all of his strength.
"...It's doing something to me! Hurry, Ethan–!" Joel cried out.
"I'm trying…!" Ethan yelled out.
For some reason, there was an anxiety bubbling in his gut; an ominous feeling that made his fingertips cold and his head hot.
In his mind, what he felt was: "Something bad is going to happen."
It was a swirl of unease in his stomach; an unavoidable feeling of dread; inescapable, yet–