[Industrial Park - Beneath]
Muun slides into Background Mode, performing abstract and off-screen contributions for the party, until such time as he becomes more connected to reality again.
Meanwhile, Down is wondering if she should make some sort of snide remark about the dedication to flaming tails passphrase, but an oft-quiet voice reminds her that she doesn't always have to be an enormous jerk about everything. This is why she has no friends.
So instead, she just smartly nods along with the joint decision to "move ahead quickly, stay together" that it seems everyone likes.
Sometimes simple is better.
Onwards they go! Deeper into the presumably natural cave tunnel presented before them, the temperature precipitously dropping with every passing moment of progress.
It is cold. Quite past cold, in fact, straight into freezing. Any damp residue that normally would like the cave walls has long since frozen into a slick sheet, and what should be stale-but-cool air is becoming more and more awful-and-unpleasant wind.
Bits of snow float past.
Snow drifts begin to appear along the edges of the walls.
This doesn't appear to be an enormously long passage and only one side path seems to exist, which veers off somewhere to the left before appearing to curve off in the same direction as this main one.
The main passage terminates into the opening of a larger chamber, the floor sloping gently down at first, then abruptly terminating into a sheer drop of about seven feet to the floor of a broad area very lightly obscured by billowing snow.
Contrary to Down's incredibly paranoid opinion, there appears to be absolutely no monsters immediately presenting themselves or lurking nearby.
Approaching the open chamber close enough to see inside better, what looks like a group of humanoid figures can be seen in silhouette where the blowing snow is thickest, along with a big dark...smudge in the air. It's pretty hard to tell what it is from over here, but its shape seems kind of indistinct and amorphous, but larger than than any of the figures.
"Big thing isn't giving off heat, that's probably our magic."
The visor of Down's helmet has taken a slightly blue-purple tint to it, presumably facilitating whatever heat detection she's doing.
"Figures are all live."
With that comment, she takes a moment to confirm her weaponry and contemplatively ruffles her wings.
"I don't have any appropriate explosives for this environment or I would recommend terminating them from here."
[The Docks - Ruined Tavern]
There are, of course, storm drains around. Whoever designed this particular area of the Docks' infrastructure was a fan of the things.
Most of them aren't particularly friendly to full-sized people entering them, being smaller grates built into the sides of walkways for basic water run-off. However, for maintenance purposes there are larger and removable service grates approximately every other block of buildings.
The tavern is on an "off block", so there are service grates located in either of its neighboring blocks for the party to consider. Not immediately present, but probably still quicker to find and access than removing all of this debris would be.
Red begins the laborious process of levitating children to the floor above, which obligingly does not collapse under their weight. It's very considerate, despite the abuse she has heaped onto it previously.
Part way through this process, the gross sound of wet, heaving flesh emanates from one of the nearby doorways (that the party had entirely skipped past). A thick, unpleasant looking red sludge begins to creep beneath the frame.
Mo hugs the boy.
Mo becomes a lightning rod.
Much as a novelty plasma ball wildly flails at nothing until a conducting object makes contact, the boy's energy has been more or less just spilling out into the world and whittling away at everything absent a direct target. Ithuriel's focusing exercise narrowed in the scope of this spillage, reducing the broader effects while he struggled to control himself.
Mo has created a target.
From Ithuriel's perspective, the horrible despairing blanket settling over the air around her just stops. The air is cool, as a basement should be, and smells horribly of rotted meat, but is otherwise...normal.
Mo becomes a math equation.
1 + -1 = 0
Anima, electricity, life, light, heat, the "positive" animating forces of the world being poured over with the "negative" finality, stillness, chill, void of Death. It is not a lethal draining, as Mo had theorized, so much as as abrupt smothering. As two opposing frequencies will cancel each other out into a blank nothing, so too do these opposing energies of Live and Die.
For a candle, its heat and fire expire. For a man, it's the cessation of their heart and mind, their breath.
For Mo, it is an attack on her energy reserves and production. No physical damage on anything at all.
There is no dramatic light show or terrifying noises, to go with any of this. Simply the surprised inhale of a boy who hadn't expected a hug.