Then, without warning, the demon lunged. Its speed shattered the senses, a blur faster than thought, faster than Michael's eyes could track. The ground beneath him erupted as claws struck, sending shards of ice and stone spinning into the air.
Michael twisted, swinging the jagged blade, fusing ice and shadow in a desperate strike. The impact sang with energy, a sharp, discordant note in the chaos, but the demon's laughter rang louder, echoing through the crater.
"Again," it whispered, voice velvet and venom. "Show me the strength of your grief, your anger, your humanity."
Michael's knuckles whitened. Pain, fear, and loss surged through him, but so did something else, fury, unrelenting, burning hotter than the frost that coated his skin.
"For him," he said again, voice a growl, and lunged forward, the fractured ice-shadow blade trembling but alive, carrying every ounce of his will into the battle that now defined the end and beginning of everything.
