The shards of frozen obsidian still littered the battlefield, faint frost clinging to the floor where Mia's fists had rained down like a storm. The squad stood frozen in their own silence, the weight of what they had just witnessed pressing into their lungs. The royal guard—a creature spoken of in whispers, a higher devil born to slaughter armies—was no more.
In its place, the echo of Mia's rage lingered.
The devil who had summoned the guard leaned back in his throne of shadows, his smile no longer mocking, no longer dripping with contempt. It was something else now—something sharp, almost hungry.
"Well done," he said finally, his words low, rumbling like thunder rolling across a barren plain. "I did not think one such as you could wield her fury so cleanly. Strength, controlled yet unchained… yes, that is what endures."
