The soft mitten covered fist of the Clause made an pitiful *poof* as it colided with Tempestia's palm. With a simple gesture the storm spirit shoved Santa Clause back, his black boots tearing up the soil as it gave way to his bulk. He staggered a moment to keep his balance as his summoner stood behind him in stark disbelief.
Tempestia raises the back of her hand to her lips in contemplation, "Did a Santa Clause just hit me? The mitten covered hands of a Santa Clause are designed to hold and comfort small children as they sit on his lap like he's some gentle old grandfather while they beg him for toys."
She clinches her fingers in the shape of a claw as she smiles most viciously, her long blue nails like the talons of small horrid bird of prey, "My hands were made to render the flesh of gods, to rip the horns and scales from the hides of demons, to make the skies rain with the blood of angels and strike down the mightiest of dragons."
Foolish mortal for all the power a Santa Clause possesses it is not made for battle in the truest sense, it does not punish, it is a karmic aligner, and a gentle grand fatherly one at that. I on the other hand am a natural disaster given form.