The army let out a yell and charged up the slope toward the temple. The Oracle didn't move, simply stood there with her palm outstretched and eyes glowing whitely. A haze began to form around her feet, and began streaming outward, dipping and surging as it solidified into a mist, whose crests formed themselves into small horses. On the slope, the army's warcry faltered, and many glanced over their shoulder at their commander. His face was rigid, unyielding, and so they continued their charge. In the mist, the forms of the horses began to grow, to take on color. Hooves began to beat the ground, giving off sparks, and soon the army could hear their neighs. Crack! Heads turned to the east, feet slowed to a stop. In the distant sky, a dark speck was growing and approaching with a speed no natural thing could attain. Clouds boiled and rolled into existance, taking the form of a stallion madly charging through space. Crack-Crac-Boom! More lightning shot down, blackening the ground where it touched. Soon the bolts were streaking down unendingly, rippling from the cloud-horse's stomach, branching from its striking hooves, shooting from its eyes and flaring nostrils. The sound of thunder came so thick and fast that no other sound could be heard, not even the dismayed cries of the men as the first bolt shot down among them, and the first mist-steeds broke in among their ranks. Through it all, the Oracle stood motionless, hand outstretched, glowing eyes fixed on the opposing commander.