More bears, birds, and Vikings lumbered at her. She kicked into the air and flipped onto the first row of stands, her boots balanced upon the thick bar that separated fans from game. With all her enemies arrayed before her, she leaned back and fired. The barrel roared as light spewed against the conglomerate foe. It shred into the turf in a single piercing ray, slicing the manicured grass and the bodies of every painstaking illusion Clair could conjure. They either dropped in severed pieces or vanished altogether. Sloan's power was light. Light was truth. Truth pierced illusion. Clair's powers were those of darkness. If Sloan conceived their magic in such a dichotomy, if she compartmentalized it in its most elemental form, it became so easy. Light versus darkness, and Sloan's raw power far exceeded Clair's.

(Chapter 26)