The demon's laughter echoed across the fractured crater, reverberating through every shard of ice and shadow that Michael had summoned. Its grin widened, sharp as obsidian, yet Michael's mind felt clearer than ever.

The fear, the grief, the guilt over Zane, it was all there, coiling inside him like venom, but instead of paralyzing him, it fueled something deeper, something primal.

He steadied his breath, grounding himself in the ice beneath his palms and the shadows curling at his fingertips.

Every muscle screamed with exhaustion, every nerve on fire, yet his resolve hardened like steel forged in frost. He could feel his powers tugging at one another, whispering, testing, searching for harmony.

And then, with a clarity born of desperation and rage, he let them merge. The jagged ice-shadow blade in his hands shivered violently, humming like a living entity. Michael gritted his teeth and slammed it into the crater floor.

The frost shot upward, spiraling, twisting like serpents, while shadows coiled into spires, writhing and alive. They met at precise angles, interlocking like the teeth of a lock, fusing their disparate energies.

The battlefield responded immediately. The winds around him screamed, bending violently, whipping debris into torn spirals of frost and darkness. He raised his blade, feeling the merged pulse of shadow and ice coursing up his arms.

The energy expanded outward, circling him in a lattice of raw force, forming four vertical pillars that cut through the smoke and light like towers of power.

Between them, diagonal lines of energy arced, jagged yet precise, connecting each pillar into a web of raw, destructive elegance.

The pillars radiated a duality, frost that burned like ice in flame, shadows that chilled as if feeding on light itself. Every shard of debris, every frozen spire, every lingering wisp of shadow in the crater bent toward them, drawn into the structure as if recognizing its sovereignty.

Michael planted his boots into the cracked ice, grounding himself fully. The shadow and ice coils around him tightened, then snapped outward in perfect synchrony.

The pillars glowed with an unnatural brilliance, each pulse resonating with both his fury and his clarity, a tangible manifestation of his will fused into something greater than either force alone.

The demon stepped back, its amusement flickering into genuine intrigue. Its claws swept through the air, slicing through fragments of ice and shadow that tried to lash at it, yet each strike of the pillars shrugged off its attacks like wind against stone. For the first time in the battle, the demon hesitated.

"You've changed," it said, voice low, cautious, almost reverent. "You wield power differently, not merely reacting, but shaping it. And yet, can you sustain it?"

Michael's voice cut through the chaos, cold and steady. "I can. I will. I must."

He raised his arms higher, and the four pillars of frost and shadow surged upward, sending tremors through the crater.

The diagonal lines of energy connected them into a lattice of destruction, a deadly architecture that vibrated with unrelenting force.

The demon's eyes narrowed, crimson flames reflecting against the pillars, each one now impossibly tall, impossibly sharp, and impossibly alive.

The energy wasn't just defensive; it was offensive, a cage, a prison, a weapon, and a declaration all at once. The ground quaked beneath them, frost spreading outward in jagged veins, shadows flowing like rivers of ink, bending light and air.

Michael could feel the Circle of Pillars expanding, its gravity pulling debris, echoes of the crater walls, even fragments of shattered ice, toward it. It hummed with the rhythm of his heartbeat, the pulse of his grief, the force of his unrelenting determination.

The demon lunged again, impossibly fast, but Michael was ready. With a thought, the four vertical pillars aligned to meet the strike, the diagonal lines slicing through the air in perfect coordination.

Frost and shadow tore through the demon's path, meeting claws with the force of mountains and voids collapsing into themselves. The collision shook the battlefield.

Cracks spiderwebbed outward in every direction. The demon stumbled, a rare misstep born not of fear but of surprise. It flicked its claws, attempting to shatter one of the pillars, yet each strike was absorbed, each force countered, each motion anticipated.

"You," the demon hissed, voice trembling with a hint of respect, "you've forged something beyond what I've seen."

Michael's vision burned with clarity. He had gone beyond fear, beyond grief, beyond guilt. He was no longer merely surviving.

He was commanding, shaping, mastering the very forces that had once held him back. Shadows and ice spiraled together, and the Circle of Pillars became a singular, fused expression of his power, a lattice of destruction that bent the battlefield to his will.

The demon hesitated, its grin thinning for the first time in the battle. The crimson of its eyes flared in warning, shadows around it recoiling as the Circle of Pillars pulsed outward, alive with the energy of ice and darkness perfectly balanced.

Michael felt it, every heartbeat, every ounce of grief, every spark of rage aligning, harmonizing, becoming something that was more than him, more than his powers separately.

He inhaled, and the battlefield seemed to pause, the air crackling with anticipation. Then, he stepped forward, the energy of the four vertical pillars and the connecting diagonals thrumming in perfect rhythm.

The Circle expanded outward like a cathedral of frost and shadow, and Michael spoke, his voice carrying across the shattered crater, resonant, commanding, filled with power and purpose:

"Umbral Frost."

The name rolled off his tongue like a verdict, and the Circle responded instantly, pulsing with renewed brilliance.

Shadows snapped toward the pillars, frost crystallized along the edges, and the lattice shimmered like a living construct, an unstoppable force of concentrated will.

The demon's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of calculation overtaking its amusement. For the first time, it measured the full extent of Michael's potential, and even it knew, this was no ordinary strike.

This was evolution, a fusion of two worlds into one unstoppable force. Michael's hands burned with the combined energy, ice, and shadow coiling around his arms like living serpents.

Every exhale crystallized into frost that twisted into darkness, every movement leaving trails of energy that radiated threat and beauty simultaneously.

The Circle of Pillars became a deadly, mesmerizing dance. Each vertical spire pulsed with power, and the diagonal connections arced like lightning, forming a lattice that trapped light, warped space, and bent the battlefield to Michael's command.

The demon hesitated, claws raised, a predator suddenly uncertain. Michael's eyes blazed, pupils narrowing into slits of frost and obsidian, as the fused energy pulsed around him, alive and aware.

"You," the demon whispered, almost in awe, "you have transcended,"

Michael's voice was steel, emotion, and power fused as tightly as the Circle of Pillars around him. "I fight for him. For us. And I will not fall."

The Umbral Frost spread outward, a living lattice of destruction and defense, a testament to the melding of his grief, his rage, and his resolve.

The battle had shifted. No longer was Michael merely reacting; no longer was he merely surviving. He had become a force of fusion, creation, and wrath.

And in the center of the crater, facing him, the demon realized that it was now truly fighting something new, something beyond its comprehension.

The ground shuddered, shadows danced, frost cut through the air, and the battle continued, but this time, the tide had shifted. Michael no longer knelt in despair; he stood, a master of the fusion of ice and shadow, prepared to claim the next strike, whatever it might cost.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.