Pain.
For a moment, that was Irelion's entire world. The Felguard's grip was a vise of living rock, each finger a separate point of agonizing pressure, squeezing the air from his lungs and threatening to buckle his ribcage. The hot, acidic stench of the demon's breath washed over him, a foul mix of sulfur and decay. He was helpless, a broken doll in the hands of a monster, his shattered sword a useless lump of metal still clutched in his fist.
He had failed. The plan was perfect, the execution was not. His body, this weak, twenty-year-old vessel, had betrayed his soul's intent. The strike that should have ended the fight had only enraged the beast.
The Felguard's green eyes, burning with a furious, intelligent light, stared into his. It opened its maw, revealing rows of jagged, obsidian teeth. It was savoring the moment, enjoying the terror of the creature that had wounded it.
From across the clearing, Aurelia watched, her heart a frozen lump in her chest. The world had slowed to a crawl. She saw Irelion lifted from the ground, saw the demon's grip tighten, heard the sickening creak of bones under pressure.
Her mind, the logical fortress where she had lived her entire life, fractured. The mission protocols were clear: if a comrade is captured by a superior foe, retreat and report. Survival of the team is paramount. It was the correct, and only sensible, course of action.
Her body refused to obey.
Her knuckles went white on the hilt of her sword, the leather groaning under the pressure. A low sound, more beast than prodigy, rumbled in her throat. She would not run. She would not let this creature kill the boy who had looked at her with the eyes of a dying star. She would not let this enigma, this puzzle she had just begun to unravel, be shattered before her.
"You will release him," she said, her voice a low, deadly whisper that cut through the silence.
The Felguard's eyes flickered to her, a flicker of contemptuous amusement in their green depths.
That was all the invitation she needed.
She took a deep breath, drawing in all the ambient Qi, all the cold, all the despair of their hopeless situation. The frost around her blade, usually so controlled and precise, turned jagged and wild. The cold wasn't a tool anymore; it was a weapon unchained, a blizzard of pure fury she could barely contain. Tiny, intricate fractals of ice bloomed along the steel, no longer beautiful, but lethally sharp. This was not the spreading ice meant to control a battlefield. This was a focused, absolute cold meant to kill.
"Third Form," she hissed, her voice dropping to a near-silent prayer of pure power. "Winter's Heart."
Irelion, his vision starting to go black at the edges from the crushing pressure, saw her stance. He knew that technique. It was her ultimate move at this level, a single, devastating thrust that poured all of her power into a single, armor-piercing point. It was the move he had preemptively countered in their spar.
The Felguard saw it too. It recognized the gathering power, the threat. It began to turn, bringing Irelion's body around to use as a shield, a cruel, intelligent smirk twisting its monstrous features.
There was no time. Aurelia was already moving, a blur of white and blue against the forest's gloom.
But even as she lunged, Irelion's mind, the mind of a Saint, was still working. He saw the demon's intent. He saw his own body about to become a meat shield. He had no weapon. He had only his pain and his will.
With the last of his strength, he opened his mouth and bit down. Hard. His teeth sank into the thick, leathery flesh of the Felguard's thumb, the one digit pressing directly into his ribs. The skin was like trying to bite through a carriage wheel, and a sharp, coppery taste of his own blood filled his mouth as his gums tore. At the same time, he channeled the last, flickering spark of Qi in his body not into a grand attack, but a tiny, disruptive pulse, directly from his chest into the demon's hand.
It was a pathetic, desperate act. A bee sting to a bear.
But it was enough.
The Felguard let out a roar of surprise as its heavy hooves slid across the ice, stumbling under its own momentum. The unexpected pain in its hand, the very hand holding its prize, made it flinch for a fraction of a second. Its iron grip loosened instinctively. It was the single greatest mistake of its short, violent life.
In that half-second, Irelion was no longer a shield. He was just a falling body, dropping like a stone.
And Aurelia's blade arrived.
Her sword struck the Felguard's chest, right where its heart should be. The sound was not the clang of steel on hide. It was the deep, resonant CRACK of a frozen lake shattering under immense pressure. A spiderweb of pure white frost exploded across the demon's chest, spreading outward from the point of impact. The fel fire in its veins sputtered and died, extinguished by the absolute zero of her attack. The very air around the demon seemed to freeze and crystallize.
The Felguard froze mid-roar, its green eyes wide with a final, uncomprehending shock. It stood for a long, silent moment, a perfect statue of black rock and white frost.
Then, with a low groan, it began to crumble. It didn't fall. It disintegrated into a shower of black dust and frozen, glittering particles that hissed as they touched the ground, leaving nothing behind but a lingering, unnatural cold.
In the center of the clearing, Aurelia stood, her sword arm extended, her chest heaving. She had poured everything into that single, perfect strike.
Irelion lay on the ground where the demon had dropped him, a broken heap of grey cloth. He wasn't moving.