He raised his hands, and the world answered with winter.
Ice did not flow, it detonated. A wave of absolute nothing erupted from him, transforming the burning street into a frozen tableau between one heartbeat and the next.
The air itself turned to glass. Every mote of moisture flash-froze, a billion suspended particles catching the hellfire and throwing it back in jagged, prismatic fractals. It was beautiful. It was blasphemous.
Dozens of demons, molten and raging, were caught in the blast.
Their fire died. Their cores froze. Divine cold invaded spaces where heat had reigned eternal. For a single, silent second, they were sculptures. Monuments to winter's sovereignty.
Then they shattered.
