Flesh and Frost

The corrupted demons, once so mindless in their charge, now hesitated at the edge of the scorched trench Asmodeus had torn through the ice. Their limbs twitched, and frozen bodies shuddered, as if some buried instinct warned them of danger:

That man burns what cannot die.

Asmodeus lowered his hand slowly, blood still trailing from his fingertips.

The air was thick with fog, misted red by ruptured bodies and fire-steamed snow. And in that pause, that moment of stillness, Asmodeus spoke.

"Split the field. Vinea, take the centre. Lumina—web the east ridge. Asmodea, I want thorns at every chokepoint. Levia, anchor the left flank."

He didn't shout.

He didn't need to.

Each woman answered with action.

Asmodeus could fight, but he needed to conserve his strength for when she appeared.

***