“I’ll defend,” I said. “Attack.”

“It is in your hands,” Masego agreed.

In the heartbeat that followed translucent shields bloomed in a bubble around him, arrows pinging off the panels, and he began to speak in the mage tongue.

...

“Abyss and firmament. I take the shape of the star and the depth of the pit, borrowing laws high and low.”

...

“Behold,” Hierophant called out, “all ye with eyes, for I have made a god of clay and it is an idol of WRATH.”

I shielded my eyes from the cold, alien light just as it came down. The clamour of the battle went silent as a grave, as if Hierophant’s miracle had killed noised itself.

- Book 7, Chapter 66: The Empty Grave