The Felguard's laugh was the sound of a world breaking. A low, guttural rumble that vibrated through the soil, a promise of absolute, unthinking violence. The air itself grew thick, heavy with the scent of ozone and something foul, like burning rot. Its burning green eyes, incandescent in the gloom of the clearing, were locked on Aurelia, ignoring the three lesser insects around her. It had found the brightest soul, the richest meal, and it was coming to collect.
"Li Wei, Zhang Min, fall back to the tree line!" Aurelia's voice was a whip-crack of command, her own fear locked away behind a wall of icy discipline. "Vance, with me! We take it head-on!"
Her training, her entire life as a prodigy, had been a series of duels and controlled engagements. She saw an enemy, assessed its power, and formulated a plan for direct assault. It was a brave, powerful, and utterly suicidal strategy.
"No," Irelion's voice cut through the air, flat and hard as iron.
Aurelia's head snapped toward him, her silver-blue eyes blazing with disbelief. In the middle of a life-or-death crisis, this outer sect disciple, this failure, had dared to countermand her. "Did you just counter my command?"
"Your command will get us all killed," he shot back, his gaze never leaving the Felguard as it began its heavy, ground-shaking advance. "That thing is in the Spirit Realm. Our attacks won't scratch its hide. You don't fight it. You fight the battlefield."
He didn't wait for permission—there was no time. The Saint of Swords, dormant for weeks behind a mask of mediocrity, seized control. His voice, no longer the quiet whisper of a broken disciple, sharpened into a tool of absolute command.
"Li Wei!" he barked. The wounded disciple, who had been ready to die for Aurelia, flinched at the sheer authority in the tone. "Your arm is bleeding. The imps smell it. Get behind that waterfall of rocks to the west! Now! Don't fight, just hide!"
Li Wei hesitated for only a second, his training warring with the unshakeable certainty in Irelion's command. He scrambled away, disappearing behind the rocks.
"Zhang Min!" Irelion snapped. "Stop crying and make yourself useful! See that dead log? Get behind it. When I give the signal, you push. Understand?"
The terrified boy looked from the advancing demon to Irelion's burning eyes and found a sliver of courage. He nodded numbly, crawling on his hands and knees toward the rotting log. The Felguard was halfway to them now, its axe raised, each step a miniature earthquake.
"Senior Sister," Irelion said, his voice dropping, urgent and low. "I need your ice. Not on the demon. On the ground. Everything between us and it. Make it a mirror."
Aurelia stared at him, her mind reeling. His strategy was insane. It was cowardly. It was also, she realized with a sickening lurch, their only possible chance. He wasn't thinking like a duelist. He was thinking like a general. She gritted her teeth, her pride screaming in protest, but her survival instinct screamed louder. She complied.
She drove her sword into the earth. "First Form: Spreading Glacier!"
A wave of brilliant white frost exploded from her blade, racing across the ground. The damp forest floor, covered in leaves and soil, instantly froze into a sheet of slick, treacherous ice. The sound was a sharp, crystalline crackle, and the temperature in the clearing plummeted. The Felguard, caught mid-stride, let out a roar of surprise as its heavy, cloven hooves slid out from under it. Its charge was broken, its massive weight now a liability. It stumbled, catching its balance with a clumsy, furious scrape of its axe on the new ice sheet.
It was the opening Irelion needed.
"Now, Zhang Min!" he roared.
With a cry of terrified effort, Zhang Min heaved against the dead log. It rolled down the slight incline, its damp bark sliding effortlessly on the ice. It wasn't an attack, but it was an obstacle, another layer of chaos designed to frustrate and divert. The Felguard, enraged by the indignity of its slip, swatted the log aside with its axe. The wood shattered into a thousand pieces. But its attention, for one crucial second, was diverted.
In that second, Irelion acted. He pulled out two of his remaining bombs. He didn't throw them at the demon. He threw one far to the left of it and one far to the right, into the dense, dark trees on either side of the unstable rift.
CRUMP! CRUMP!
Two violent, concussive blasts ripped through the forest. They didn't harm the Felguard, but they sent a shower of splintered wood, shrapnel, and burning leaves into the air. More importantly, the shockwaves destabilized the already ancient trees flanking the demonic wound. With a great groan of protesting wood, the two massive oaks began to lean, their roots torn from the earth.
The Felguard looked up, its dull brain finally processing the threat. It wasn't being attacked. It was being buried.
"Your ice!" Irelion yelled at Aurelia, who was staring at the scene with wide, disbelieving eyes. "The rift itself! Freeze the edges!"
She didn't question him this time. She unleashed a torrent of pure frost directly at the shimmering, purple tear in reality. The unstable energy of the rift reacted violently to the sudden, intense cold. It sputtered, its edges crackling and shrinking like scorched paper. The Felguard roared, a sound of genuine panic now. The portal, its only anchor and escape route, was closing.
With a final, deafening crash, the two massive trees collapsed inward, their heavy canopies and thick trunks slamming down on top of the rift, burying it under tons of splintered wood. The purple light flickered once more, and then went out. A cloud of dust and debris filled the clearing.
The Felguard froze. Its connection to its realm was severed. It was trapped.
It turned its head slowly, its burning green eyes, now filled with a cold, focused hatred, landing on the four mortals who had dared to imprison it. They had survived the onslaught and closed the portal. Now they were locked in a cage with the devil, and he knew exactly who was responsible.