The target drops whatever it is holding and then ends its turn.
Your voice lashes out like a whip of iron will, seizing the foe's limbs in an invisible vise. Fingers unclench, weapons and trinkets clatter to the dust-choked ground, metal ringing sharp against stone. The body freezes mid-stride, muscles locked rigid, eyes wide in futile rebellion as the turn's fire gutters to ash.
These sliders set site audio only, so you can mix against Discord and other apps (phone volume still caps everything).