The air had shifted.

It wasn't just heavy now—it felt dark.

As thick, corrupted energy spread out from the four demons, quickly rotting the surroundings. It felt as if the world itself was trying to reject their presence.

Azhriel stood still, his grip tightening around his icy scythe. Across from him, the remaining four demons—now twisted by the Regas Pills—growled like beasts that had been let off their chains.

Their muscles had swelled unnaturally like they would blast into peices any moment.

While black lines spread across their skin like armor. Their eyes were bloodshot, veins dark and pulsing from the raw demonic energy surging through them.

Behind them, the Sergeant finally unfolded his arms. The Sergeant's grin didn't fade. "They serve their purpose. Isn't that what matters?"

Azhriel eyes narrowed as he looked at the Sergeant.

It was annoying seeing that damn monster run his mouth.

Though he knows the four demons standing before Azhriel were already as good as dead.

In the next instant the first one moved.

His legs blurred into motion, and he lunged faster than any human eye could follow.

Azhriel blocked with the shaft of his scythe, his arms shaking slightly under the sheer power of the blow.

The demon's claws were inches from his neck, and Azhriel could smell the acidic breath pouring out of its mouth.

Another demon leapt from the side, its clawed feet aimed to crash into Azhriel's ribs.

Switch.

Azhriel vanished from between them and reappeared a few meters back, ice sliding under his boots as he landed clean.

The moment he did, the third and fourth demons charged.

Their weapons had been thrown aside. Now they fought like savage beasts—biting, clawing, smashing anything in their way.

Azhriel dodged low, spun once, and swept his scythe across the third demon's chest. Black blood sprayed out, but the creature didn't even flinch.

Instead it charged again, growling.

The fourth demon landed a hit—its claws raking down Azhriel's right arm, slicing through fabric and skin alike. Blood dripped to the ground.

"Tch…" Azhriel clicked his tongue, backing off.

From the side, Phantom stepped forward, ready to assist.

"Should I—?"

"No!" Azhriel spoke, louder than usual. "Don't interfere!"

This was his fight. If Phantom stepped in, the Sergeant might too. And that was something Azhriel didn't want—not yet.

The first demon came at him again, his fist crashing like a hammer.

Azhriel ducked, as the blow slammed into the stone ground behind him, cracking it from the sheer force.

He jumped backward just in time to avoid a claw that was aimed for his spine.

They were faster.

Stronger and Reckless than before.

He needed to change his rhythm.

Azhriel raised his hand. "Freeze."

A sharp breath of frost filled the air as multiple spears of ice shot forward like a whizzing bullet.

The second demon shielded itself, letting the shards pierce its arm as he charged wildly straight through the attack. While the third and fourth circled, trying to flank him again.

Though this time, Azhriel didn't wait.

He dashed forward, ramming his scythe into the side of the second demon, slicing through its shoulder.

The moment it turned to counter, he Switched again—this time appearing above it.

Like a Grim Reaper, he spun once in mid-air and brought the scythe down like an executioner.

The demon's head froze solid before its body slumped over, lifeless.

One down.

But there was no time to breathe. The third demon jumped at him, claws glowing faintly red, enhanced by whatever remained of its burning core.

Azhriel blocked once, twice. The third strike slammed into his ribs.

He felt a rib crack.

However he didn't stop.

He spun with the force, rolling away, and slid to his knees as he summoned up a frost wall to block the follow-up from the demon.

The demon crashed through it.

Azhriel met the beast with his blade mid-dash, slicing upward. He cut across the chest but again—no pain.

The demon twisted and backhanded him with a roar.

He was flung towards a market stall.

He crashed into it. As wood shattered, as dust flew.

He coughed, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His coat was torn, the fabric stuck to his skin where blood and sweat soaked through.

Still, it was somewhat easy?.

He didn't understand about it, but it just felt like that Solas training was just way harsher and rougher than this.

He raised his eyes.

The demon rushed again.

This time, Azhriel didn't defend.

He let it come. And at the last second, he twisted his body, ducked low, and swept his leg under the demon's feet. The monster stumbled.

In that heartbeat, Azhriel drove the back of his scythe into its stomach, then launched upward with a vertical slash.

The icy blade tore through its torso, and a blast of cold mana froze the wound. The demon tried to scream—its mouth opened, but no sound came.

Azhriel pressed a palm against its chest and whispered, "Shatter."

The frost exploded outward, breaking the demon into frozen chunks.

Two down.

The third one growled and stepped back, now aware of the danger. Its movements became tighter, more controlled.

The madness hadn't faded, but something deeper had awakened, something that was ingrained in every living being—survival instinct.

It circled around him now. Wary.

Azhriel stared, panting slightly. His side still burned from the wound. His ribs ached. But he didn't back away.

The demon charged once more, zig-zagging through the air to avoid a direct path.

Azhriel also didn't wait.

He slashed once—wide. The demon ducked.

He slashed again—sharp and quick. The demon rolled aside.

Then came the third strike—not at the demon, but at the space behind it.

A rift opened.

The demon's foot stepped directly into it as it moved back.

"Die," Azhriel said.

The rift snapped closed.

Crack.

The demon howled as its leg was severed clean. It toppled, roaring, blood spraying. Azhriel moved in, quick and ruthless, and ended it with one clean thrust to the chest.

Only one remained.

The fourth demon.

The strongest.

It hadn't moved during the fight. It had been watching.

Now it stepped forward.

And charged.

Its speed was faster than the others—unnaturally fast. Azhriel barely brought his scythe up in time to block the slash aimed for his neck. The impact shook his whole arm.

He stepped back, ducked a claw swipe, but a follow-up kick landed on his shoulder, sending him crashing to the side.

He rolled, coughed again, blood splattering onto the ground. His breathing was ragged.

'This one… is different.' Azhriel thought.

He stood, frost swirling around him now like a storm. His body ached, but his eyes were focused.

The demon came again.

This time, Azhriel met it head-on.

Their movements became blurs. Blade and claw met again and again. The clash rang out across the empty market street like war drums.

Azhriel twisted his wrist, slicing along the demon's side. The demon slammed both fists down, cracking the stone where Azhriel had just been.

Azhriel appeared behind it.

The demon spun, faster than before, and clawed his chest—three deep cuts marking his torso.

He stumbled back, for a moment but then he smirked.

"Ice Coffin."

He dropped his scythe, for a moment. His hands touching the ground. Ice surged upward from beneath the demon's feet.

Thick, dense, glowing.

"Gurgh"

The demon tried to leap—but its legs were already frozen. It swung wildly, roaring, but the ice crawled faster than it could break free.

Its chest. Its arms. Its neck.

Snap.

It froze in place, a towering statue of rage and death.

Azhriel stood, lifted his scythe again, and slashed once across its frozen throat.

The head rolled off, shattering as it hit the stone.

Silence.

Azhriel stood alone, surrounded by shattered ice, blood, and the still corpses of the four demons.

His chest rose and fell. His scythe drooped slightly in his hand.

The corrupted mist from the Regas Pills began to fade. The night air returned to normal—cold, but no longer choking.

And yet… the fight was not over.

froze in place, a towering statue of rage and death.

Azhriel stood, lifted his scythe again, and slashed once across its frozen throat.

The head rolled off, shattering as it hit the stone.

Silence.

Azhriel stood alone, surrounded by shattered ice, blood, and the still corpses of the four demons.

His chest rose and fell. His scythe drooped slightly in his hand.

The corrupted mist from the Regas Pills began to fade. The night air returned to normal—cold, but no longer choking.

And yet… the fight was not over.

froze in place, a towering statue of rage and death.

Azhriel stood, lifted his scythe again, and slashed once across its frozen throat.

The head rolled off, shattering as it hit the stone.

Silence.

Azhriel stood alone, surrounded by shattered ice, blood, and the still corpses of the four demons.

Azhriel didn't spoke. He just exhaled as he slowly moved towards the Sergeant and as he moved the scythe changed as Frost Born, turned into its original form.

The sword.

it was important because