The gnarled tree stood beside her. Sloan wrenched a brittle branch from its trunk. This thing she held in her hand was not a branch, however. It was a thunderbolt, used by the god Zeus himself, Jupiter, Jove, any and all appellations, it mattered nothing. The branch lit up with a furious glow, blazing gold in her hand.

Creativity? CREATIVITY.

She hurled the thunderbolt. It sailed through the stormy air, quick as lightning, quick as a cartoon or a video game, with an electric sound effect. It struck Clair between the shoulder blades and her blue form fell. The bolt jutted out of her, illuminating her position between the silent homes.

(Chapter 26)