Leaven threw a tired look at X and allowed himself to be pulled into the vortex. The sword dove into the swirling mass of air first. It is good, he thought to himself, that this wind-casting gentleman failed to notice the minor side effect that happened the last time Kamertonis came in contact with highly pressurized, sped-up air.

The blade pierced the vortex like an eagle's beak penetrating an unfortunate rabbit's cranium, and spun wildly about the center of the tornado. The tornado flailed the man all over the place, and Leaven held on to the hilt for his life. Meanwhile, the weapon shepherded the raging winds into a concentrated jet using the intricate crenellations etched on the inner side of the blades (the "split"), superheating the volatile mass of N and O2 into the same sort of brilliant white string that appeared during the first blast. An unholy screaming accompanied all of this - wind passing through the crenellations - and the string, enjoying a constant pressurized air flow, quickly grew into a pillar of light emanating from between the two blades. These appeared almost blurred to the eye, thanks to the extreme vibrations incited by the alternating winds.

Very quickly did the vortex find itself running out of power, having been transformed into a ten-centimetre-thick, three-meter-long blinding ray of retribution. Feeling the strength of the winds dying down, Leaven heaved the sword out of its windy nest, and brought down the judgment squarely upon the light-consuming suit of armour directly below him.

Normally, this technique could only be executed at about an eighth of its current power, only in high winds swung with the craft and at full strength, and only for a split moment. However, even that much easily cut inch-thick steel armour cleanly in half. The roaring monstrosity erupting from the Kamertonis now possessed a thought-defying amount of power, and Leaven himself was unsure as to what its effect would be.

Temporarily blinded by the shining of the beam, Leaven landed squarely on his feet. He swayed back and forth there for a few seconds, face tensed and lips thin, and suddenly bent in half and keeled over. A fetid mudslide broke through his mouth, and he barfed all over the red-hot Kamertonis in front of him, resulting in a tear-jerkingly stinking cloud of yellow vapour. That was one hell of a bumpy ride up in that tornado.