soulfire ice wall

“Right,” my grandfather said. He leaned forward, staring intently at the ground on the near side of the park. “Hoss, buy me a little time to work.”
“Me?” I squeaked.
“Mmm. Or we’ll die,” he said calmly. “Those are fire giants. We don’t stop these things here, they’ll run right through us and turn the city into a kiln while the Titan sits back and laughs.”
By this time, I could feel the shock when their feet, stumpier and wider than human feet would be, proportionately, struck the ground like an earthquake’s vanguard.
“Carlos, shield me,” I said. “I’m not going to have anything to spare.”
Without a word, Ramirez lifted his left hand and the air in front of me quivered with a pale greenish disk of light that rippled like water. It wasn’t more than a second before enemy fire struck it on one side, evidently with shot from the octokong weapons. The ball hit Ramirez’s shield and in the act of passing through, it was ripped into a fine spray of metallic grit.
The Jotnar closed to two hundred yards.
I lifted my right hand, staff gripped in it, and gathered my power, reaching out to the cold, vicious core of Winter that now resided within me.
One hundred and fifty yards.
From deep within, I touched upon the reservoir of Soulfire that I’d been gifted with many moons before. Soulfire was the purest force of Creation in the universe, left over from the birth of the universe itself. Angels wielded Soulfire, and one of them had given me enough to last a lifetime. Soulfire didn’t make magic more potent, precisely—but it made it more real. As the power of Creation itself, Soulfire was best used to create and protect, and what I had in mind was going to take a lot of it.
One hundred yards.
Cold blue light began to shine from me. That was enough to draw the fire of every octokong on the field, and Ramirez’s shield glowed brighter and brighter. I struggled not to flinch as an increasing spray of fine grains of lead washed against my chest and face.
“Harry,” Carlos gasped. “Hurry.”
Fifty yards.
Within my thoughts, I merged the power from the heart of Winter with Soulfire.
My head exploded with raw agony as the energies met—and fed upon each other, growing into a thunderstorm in my thoughts. Frost formed over my fingernails and spread out along a couple of feet of my quarterstaff on either side of my gripping hand. Steam boiled off me in small clouds as Winter frost met the sultry summer night.
“Infriga!” I roared, pointing my staff at the ground to one side of the charging line of Jotnar.
Power coursed out of the heart of me, into the ancient oak of my wizard’s staff, focused and concentrated within its length by the runes and sigils carved along it. The tool leapt in my hand like a firefighter’s high-pressure hose, and I had to clamp both hands on it and strain every muscle just to hold steady, runes glowing the same bright green-gold as Alfred’s eyes on Demonreach.
A howling lance of glacier-blue, coherent, observable, utter cold flooded into the night. The very summer air screamed in protest at the sudden, wild shift in temperature, with steam and mist boiling off me in a cloud. The beam struck the ground before the oncoming Jotnar—and where that beam struck, a wall of absolutely crystalline ice formed, twenty feet thick, thirty feet high, and curving forward like a breaking wave.
Howling in time with the wailing air, I slewed the beam from left to right across the path of the oncoming Jotnar—who collided with my barrier with all the power and momentum of a freight train. There was an enormous roar, a series of impacts, and cracks exploded through the clear ice in a spiderweb of crazed lines.
But the wall held.
I sagged as the last of the spell’s energy washed out of me and would have fallen if Ramirez hadn’t steadied me. My vision blurred for a second, and I swiped a hand at my eyes, where frost crystals had frozen throughout my eyelashes and dragged them down in a wintry veil over my vision.
By the time I’d cleared it, Jotnar were roaring. Swords and axes exploded into flame as though they’d been coated in napalm and set alight. The flaming weapons were brought crashing down upon the Winter ice with echoing cracks like the bellow of cannons. Light rushed through the prism of the slowly shattering wall, dancing through hectic spectrums of color. Fragments of ice exploded outward in deadly showers. Screaming jets of steam erupted from each strike, some of them whistling like a haunted hell-bound train.
I dragged my gaze over to my grandfather, who stood with his legs planted solidly. Ebenezar held his hands at his sides, fingers wide, palms toward the ground, and the very air around him shivered with multiple forces of energy.
My wall of ice cracked and fell within seconds, the Jotnar hammering and hacking it down, heedless of the deadly jets of steam.
But a few seconds had been enough.

Battle Ground Chapter 15, Page 143-145