Shielding

From the spiritual winds of the Blind Eternities, Jace stepped through the curtain of reality into the equally fierce physical winds of Grixis's revolting terrain. Physical-but far, far from natural. They leached the warmth from his body, carried a noxious fume of exhaustion and despair. The hem of Jace's cloak grew ragged and worn, the leather of his boots supple and thin, as though each had seen years of use in the span of seconds. His flesh ached, his vision blurred; as he cowered against the winds with an arm raised to protect himself, he saw tufts of the hairs on the back of his hand grow brittle and flake away.

With those winds rose an oily fog, swirling and dancing in a maddened ballet of wretched plague. Thick tendrils of the stuff writhed past his face, coating his lungs with a film of fluid decay. Like murky water, it thickened and thinned, but even at its clearest Jace could see no more than perhaps thirty feet ahead. At its worst, Bolas could have set down from the skies within arm's reach, and Jace would never have seen him.

***

Desperately, he pushed out with all his might. This was no formal spell, no focused and molded effect, but a raw and unpolished burst of mana unshaped. He flung the incorporeal veil before him, a shield between himself and the murderous winds. And for a time, at least, it armored him. The chill in his flesh grew less, and though buffeted still by winds nearly strong enough to knock him sideways, he found himself able to breathe cleanly. The pall of exhaustion refused to fade, but at least it grew no heavier.

***

Agents of Artifice, Chapter 25