The demon darted towards them with speeds that they couldn't even comprehend. Michael tried to cover himself with an ice shield, though before he could even attempt to accomplish something of that stature, the demon had interrupted him and punched him in the gut, feeling as if a supernova had just occurred in his stomach.

Zane ran towards the demon as fast as he could muster up, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough. The demon easily evaded the assault and immediately threw in a feint to toy with Zane, but ended him with a planet-shattering punch to the face, breaking every nook and cranny of bones that Zane possessed.

Zane flew backwards faster than when he came towards the demon. Michael screamed as he saw Zane, possibly dead, like Schrodinger's cats, lying on the ground, completely and utterly unconscious, beyond the concept.

Michael cried, but the wet tears turned dry faster than hope could die in a dying star. Using his ice powers again, he was successfully able to craft an ice shield around him that stuck to his skin like glue, and angrily screamed at the demon.

The demon watched him as he summoned a ball of powerful shadow and ice, mixing the two to create something spectacular. The sphere pulsed in his hand like a bright neutron star, swirling with chaotic veins of frost and darkness, with each rotation warping the air around it.

It was a beautiful sight, something straight out of an anime. The temperature plunged, and the ground started to get covered in ice. Shadows twisted upward like smoke caught in a storm, bending toward the core of a growing mass.

The demon tilted its head, amused. "A pretty trick," it murmured.

Michael didn't blink. The shield on his skin thickened, plates locking into place. His voice cut through the freezing haze. "This isn't a trick." He raised the sphere higher, its gravity tugging at the debris around his feet. "This is a promise."

The ball of fused power throbbed once, like a heartbeat, and the ground beneath them split. The demon was amused by the spectacular display that Michael was showcasing to it. The demon laughed gutturally; each ripple of sound sounded like the bells of hell.

The laughter echoed across the ruined street, vibrating through the broken foundations like an ancient hymn of mockery. Michael steadied his stance, boots freezing into the ground as tendrils of shadow spiraled up his arms, merging with the frost.

The sphere grew brighter—so bright it painted the demon's obsidian skin in streaks of blue and black. Lightning-like cracks spidered across its surface, each fissure revealing a deeper void within, as if the attack were carving open a wound in reality itself.

The demon's grin widened. "Show me," it purred.

Michael obliged.

With a roar forged from rage and grief, he hurled the sphere. The air screamed as it launched forward, leaving a trail of frozen distortion in its wake.

Buildings along its path crystallized instantly, their walls shattering into glittering shards. Shadows fled before it, then snapped back violently, pulled toward the core of its gravity.

The demon didn't move. It simply opened its arms, as if welcoming an embrace. The sphere struck, perfectly dead center. For an instant, the battlefield vanished in white, blinding light.

A dome of ice and shadow surged outward, swallowing rubble, flame, and sky alike. The shockwave carved a crater hundreds of feet wide, the impact flattening what little remained of the surrounding ruins. Frost raced across the earth in jagged webs, reaching for miles.

When the light faded, Michael dropped to one knee, breath hitching, steam rising from his armor of frozen shadow.

He stared into the crater. And after thinking that he had won, something interesting had occurred in front of him. The demon was very much alive.

After everything cleared, the dust, the debris, the white light, Michael saw the unscathed demon, smiling propulsively, while the grin that it had had vanished.

The demon stepped forward, each movement deliberate, as though savoring the silence between its footsteps. Ice cracked beneath its heel, steam rising where its presence burned through the frozen earth. Its eyes, twin furnaces of crimson, fixated on Michael with a clarity that felt surgical.

"Impressive," it said quietly. The word rumbled like distant thunder. "But you misunderstand."

Michael's pulse hammered. His shield flickered, the frost along its edges twitching like a heartbeat out of sync. He forced himself upright, even as the world around him spun.

The demon lifted a hand and brushed a speck of dust from its shoulder. "Power is not creation." It slowly looked up, meeting Michael's stare. "Power is endurance."

There wasn't a single burn across its skin. Not a shard of ice embedded. Not a shadow lingering. Nothing.

Michael's jaw clenched. "You should be dead," he whispered.

The demon's smile sharpened. "I cannot die," it replied.Then its tone dropped to something colder, deeper, older. "Not by anything you can conjure."

Michael inhaled sharply, too sharply. The air tasted metallic. His vision blurred at the edges, colors draining into monochrome. He blinked, steadying himself, but the world continued collapsing inward, as though gravity had betrayed him.

The demon noticed. Its grin widened once more. "Oh," it breathed, "did you think that attack belonged only to you?"

Michael staggered back a half-step. The demon took one forward.

"I let you strike," it continued. "To see how far your grief would reach." It leaned slightly closer. "And it was… delightful."

Before Michael could move, the demon vanished in a blur, faster than sound, quicker than light.

A whisper slid past Michael's ear. "Your turn."

Michael felt as if he had just gotten violated. His skin felt otherworldly; his mind wasn't in the right place anymore. He wasn't calm, nor composed. The demon had fully taken over his body, as if it were some sort of puppet master.

Michael's knees buckled as he didn't see the demon in front of him. Tears swept through his cheek, gently touching the ground, as the air rippled around him, and the demon was behind him.

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