freezing huntsman

The burning corpse and the smushed ones abruptly deflated.
And there was a sudden crashing sound as a Huntsman half a head taller than River Shoulders just shrugged its way out through the front wall of the house, taking maybe half of the front of the house down. It raised its spear and let out a bestial roar that would have set off car alarms had any of them been working.
It leapt toward River Shoulders, its heavy iron spear held in one hand like an assegai, and thrust it at the Sasquatch. River took a pair of quick pivoting steps that I had seen Murphy do before, guiding the spear’s tip past him with one hand and getting in close to the Huntsman where he could seize the weapon’s haft and try to wrench it from his foe.
The Huntsman roared its defiance and fought.
The heavy iron bent and snapped like cheap plastic before the application of that much raw physical power. The Huntsman promptly rammed the snapped end of the spear in its hand into River Shoulders’ neck.
If River had been human, the blow would have killed him. But the Sasquatch had layers of muscle mounded up around his neck. His trapezius muscles went all the way to the bottom of his ears, and the shard of the weapon was ineffective at penetrating that much meat. Even so, the Huntsman got its other arm around River Shoulders’ waist and lifted the Sasquatch off the ground, charging forward to ram him into the old tree.
I lunged, seized the thirteenth Huntsman’s leg with both arms, summoned my will, and screamed, “Arctis!”
Cold, the pure supernatural cold of true Winter, flooded out of my hands and into the Huntsman. There was a horrible crackling sound as the temperature of the flesh I was touching sank to single digits on the Kelvin scale.
The Huntsman shrieked in pain and kicked its leg in an attempt to dislodge me.
I hung on.
There was a crackling sound, and I took the leg from the knee down with me.
The Huntsman screamed and fell in a shower of ice chips and a gout of blood.

Battle Ground Chapter 9, Page 91-92