Nicole stared at the wall, at nothing, at everything she wished had stayed buried in 1918.
"…He will notice," she said quietly. "Even if something tries very hard to stop him."
The line went silent except for the distant hum of machinery, the sound of an empire breathing.
"Proceed with caution," Grissley Biar finally said. "Complete both objectives."
The connection clicked dead.
Nicole lowered the receiver slowly.
For a moment, her reflection stared back at her from the dark glass—blue eyes too bright, too old, rimmed with something dangerously close to regret.
"Of course it had to be you," she murmured to no one.
Then she straightened, frost settling back into her bones, and stepped out into the cold—already feeling the world bend, gently, insistently, asking her not to notice what was coming.
Nicole's breath hitched.
Not from cold.
Not from fear she recognized.
The air thickened, pressing against her lungs like wet wool, each inhale suddenly laborious, wrong. Her boots scraped uselessly against the ground as her knees buckled, the frost beneath them hissing—hissing—as the temperature spiked violently. Snow sublimated into steam. Ice screamed as it cracked. In the span of a heartbeat the world lurched from biting −10 to a suffocating +60, heat rolling outward in invisible waves that made the horizon blur.
"This—" Her voice came out rough. "This isn't—"
She didn't finish the thought.
Because she felt him.
Not footsteps. Not sound. Presence.
Something behind her that bent the field itself, as if reality had been leaning comfortably on one elbow and just decided to stand up. Her spine locked. Every instinct she had—hunter, soldier, survivor—went feral all at once, screaming the same message with animal certainty.
Do not turn around.
Her vision tunneled. Frost along her sleeves evaporated, replaced by sweat that steamed against her skin. The earth beneath her palms felt alive, not warm, not cold, but alert, as though it knew it was being watched by something far older than it.
"…So," Nicole rasped, forcing air into her lungs, "you finally show yourself."
The pressure intensified.
Closer now.
Close enough that her shadow no longer behaved correctly.
She didn't hesitate.
Nicole slammed her palm to her chest and let go.
The White Lily in her soul bloomed.
Layer one unfurled with a sound like cracking ice. Layer two followed, petals of pure metaphysical frost peeling outward through her veins, her nerves screaming as power flooded her frame. The cold returned—not environmental, not ambient—but hers, disciplined and absolute, wrapping around her like armor from the inside out.
Fabric manifested over skin in a shimmer of pale blue and silver, a dress forming as if woven from snowfall and moonlight, elegant and impossible, the kind of thing meant for fairy tales and executions. The ground around her flash-froze again, a perfect circle of white radiating outward as she rose to her feet, steadier now, sharper, anchored.
Her breath steadied.
Her eyes hardened.
Stage Two.
Only then did she dare to turn her head slightly, just enough to acknowledge what stood behind her.
"Alright," Nicole said, ice crystallizing in the air with every syllable. "Let's skip the pleasantries."
Her fingers flexed, frost coiling eagerly along her knuckles.
"Who," she asked the heat, the pressure, the impossible weight of him,"are you supposed to be?"
Nothing stood there.
For half a second, her instincts screamed wrong—and then steel kissed the nape of her neck.
Cold. Precise. Close enough that a breath would have been fatal.
A voice murmured behind her, lazy, almost amused.
"~~~I am Batman."
Nicole didn't gasp. Didn't flinch.
She turned and stabbed.
Ice drove clean through his heart in a perfect, killing thrust—only for the body to ripple, blur, and collapse into ash and heat haze like a bad reflection shattering on water.
"…Illusion," she hissed.
Too late.
The real attack came from above.
The sky cracked.
Rudra dropped out of the air like a falling god, coat snapping violently as he hurled fire-spears downward—dozens of them—each one igniting mid-flight, detonating on impact like newborn stars screaming themselves into existence. The ground vanished in a chain of white-hot explosions, shockwaves chasing Nicole as she moved.
She backflipped once.Twice.Again.
Ice formed beneath her feet mid-motion, launching her sideways as explosions chewed the earth where she'd been a heartbeat earlier. Heat washed over her skin, instantly flash-evaporated by her aura, steam and fire tangling violently around her silhouette.
"Persistent little—"
She snapped both hands forward.
Two icicle spikes tore free from her palms, long and needle-thin, spinning end over end with surgical intent, aiming straight for Rudra's throat and heart.
His eyes widened—not in fear, but calculation.
"CHRONOS DESIST."
Time stuttered.
The world froze mid-violence: fire-spheres locked in bloom, steam suspended like ghostly silk, Nicole mid-landing with one knee bent and teeth clenched. Rudra twisted through the single stolen second, slipping between the icicles as casually as stepping through rain, their tips brushing heat against his coat as time snapped back into motion.
The spikes shattered behind him.
He landed hard, boots gouging molten earth, heat rolling off him in waves so dense the frost around Nicole screamed as it resisted annihilation.
They faced each other now.
No illusions.
No distance.
Just heat versus cold, will versus will.
Nicole smiled—sharp, feral, thrilled despite herself.
"…So you're the Karmasot," she said, eyes gleaming. "Good. I was afraid you'd disappoint me...I recognise the blood but that face seems unknown..maybe you took after whoever your mother is, boy."
Rudra's talwar hummed faintly at his side, fire crawling along its edge like something alive. His gaze was steady, too steady.
"Careful," he replied, voice low "Don't wanna get 3rd degree burns all over your pretty face.
The air between them warped.
And somewhere, far away, reality quietly prepared to be abused again.
Nicole smiled—sharp, feral, thrilled despite herself.
"…So you're the Karmasot," she said, eyes gleaming. "Good. I was afraid you'd disappoint me. I recognize the blood… but that face is unfamiliar." Her gaze lingered on him, almost curious. "Maybe you took after whoever your mother was, boy."
Rudra's talwar hummed faintly at his side, fire crawling along its edge like something alive. His gaze was steady—too steady, the calm of someone who had already crossed death and come back irritated rather than afraid.
"Careful," he replied, voice low. "Don't wanna get third-degree burns all over your pretty face."
The air between them warped, heat and cold grinding against each other like tectonic plates.
And somewhere, far away, reality quietly prepared to be abused again.
Nicole's smile vanished.
"Kāma Frost."
The word wasn't shouted. It was offered—like a prayer spoken backward.
The temperature didn't drop.
It collapsed.
Frost didn't spread outward; it lunged inward, snapping toward Rudra's chest as crystalline filaments erupted from the ground, the air, the space between thoughts. Ice shaped like hooked petals bloomed around him, beautiful and obscene, each edge humming with killing intent. His breath crystallized mid-inhale. Fire along his blade sputtered, snarled, then roared back in defiance.
The frost wasn't trying to freeze him.
It was trying to love him to death—cling, embrace, pierce, consume.
Rudra's boots skidded back, carving molten trenches through the suddenly glassing earth. Ice crept up his coat, along his arm, kissing skin hard enough to burn. His teeth clenched as pain flashed white-hot—cold so deep it inverted into agony.
"Soak it in," Nicole said, arms spread slightly, frost spiraling around her like a crown. "Kāma Frost doesn't kill instantly. It adores first."
Rudra exhaled sharply.
Fire detonated outward from his spine—not an explosion, but a revolt
The ice screamed as crimson heat surged through the filaments, steam ripping the air apart in violent shrieks. His talwar flared, fire no longer crawling but howling, cutting a burning arc that severed the frozen petals mid-bloom.
He stepped forward through the steam, eyes blazing.
"Yeah," he said, voice rough, breath fogging. "Not really into clingy types."
The frost recoiled.
Nicole's eyes widened—just a fraction.
Enough.
The battlefield groaned, caught between annihilation and combustion, as both of them leaned in harder—knowing, with grim certainty, that this was no longer a skirmish.
This was escalation.