The devils' arena was a cage of blood and shadow, and for a fleeting moment it felt as if the humans had pried open a crack in its walls.
Mia's fists blurred in a storm of strikes, each hit ringing with the crunch of flesh and bone. Frost exploded outward with every blow, climbing up devil bodies like veins of crystal. Those humanoid devils—more cunning, more dangerous than the beast-like ones—had been the greatest threat, but they were also the ones who fell hardest under her dual art. Her knuckles slammed into a snarling devil's chest, and in the same instant, ice shot down its limbs, locking it stiff before it shattered into frozen fragments.
Behind her, Seraphine's spear burned like a miniature sun. Every thrust detonated into fire, each sweep scattering dozens of lesser creatures into ash. Her flame clashed against the devils' darkness, creating bursts of light that pushed back the suffocating gloom of the arena.
