THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

The Lithe creature, the terror from the Deep Deadlands, didn't hesitate. It launched forward with horrifying speed, a blur of iridescent scales and ghostly blue wisps, a coiled spring unleashed. The distance between it and David vanished in a heartbeat, its clawed hands reaching, ready to tear. The air shrieked as it sliced through the space David occupied, a silent, deadly promise of evisceration.

David did not move. He remained utterly still, his calm undisturbed, his smirk unfading. Seraphina and Vivian were locked in fierce, swirling battles with their respective puppets, a whirlwind of lightning, flame, obsidian steel, and tattered cloaks.

Their struggles were visceral, demanding their full attention. But even amidst their focused ferocity, neither showed an ounce of worry for David. Their trust was absolute, a testament to their unwavering faith in his mysterious capabilities. They understood that he was not merely protected, but was the eye of the storm, the puppet master pulling unseen strings.

At the very last, impossible moment, as the Lithe creature's claws were mere inches from David's face, Vespera stirred. She floated beside him, her ethereal form shimmering with an eerie, unearthly calm, like a phantom in a dream. There was no dramatic gesture, no grand incantation. She simply raised her hand, a delicate, almost casual wave of her pale, translucent fingers.

The temperature plummeted.

Not gradually, but instantly, violently. The oppressive warmth of the throne realm was ripped away, replaced by an arctic blast that stole breath from the lungs.

Visible frost blossomed on the ancient pillars, coating the golden veins in a glittering rime. The very air crystallized, turning breath into clouds of frozen vapor that shattered like glass. The black flame in the ritual basin flickered violently, struggling against the sudden, impossible cold.

Ice, crystalline and impossibly pure, began to crawl across the Lithe creature's body. It started at the leading claws, spiderwebbing across the iridescent scales with horrifying speed.

The ice did not merely form on the surface; it permeated, freezing the very lifeblood within its veins. The creature, caught mid-pounce, mid-strike, mid-shriek of frustrated malice, solidified.

Its muscles locked, its eyes, filled with lethal intent, glazed over, entombed in a perfect crystal coffin. It was a statue of elegant terror, frozen in the act of annihilation, each scale, each ghostly wisp, preserved in breathtaking detail. It hung there, suspended in time, a shimmering monument to Vespera's serene power.

David, still utterly calm, his eyes holding a faint, almost bored expression, leaned forward slightly. He puckered his lips, a gesture that seemed almost absurdly mundane in the face of such absolute power.

Then, he blew.

A soft, almost imperceptible puff of air, yet it was enough. The frozen beast, captured in its crystalline prison, shuddered. And then, with a sound like a thousand wind chimes exploding, it shattered.

It didn't melt, didn't crack, but dissolved into a million glistening shards of ice that rained down around David, catching the dim light in a brief, sparkling shower before evaporating into nothingness. Not a drop of blood, not a scrap of flesh, just a memory of ice dust.

David watched the last of the shimmering fragments vanish, his smirk deepening just a fraction. He casually raised a hand, brushing away imaginary ice dust from the pristine, dark surface of his Nightveil Embrace armor. His voice, when he spoke, was light, almost conversational, laced with a mock admiration that bordered on playful condescension.

"Nasty creature, wouldn't you agree? Still… predictable." He paused, allowing the casual dismissal of her 'deadly' puppet to hang in the air, a silent jab at her supposed tactical brilliance.

"But if this is your idea of negotiation, Mistress," he continued, a faint, sardonic chuckle escaping his lips, "we'll get nowhere fast." His tone implied that her efforts, while perhaps quaint, were ultimately ineffective and rather tiresome.

A low, dark chuckle resonated from the Mistress, suspended above the cosmic gate. It was a sound like stones grinding together, devoid of true mirth, yet carrying an unsettling quality of ancient amusement.

"You are... interesting," she conceded, her burning sun-eyes fixed on David. Her gaze then drifted, lingering for a moment on the empty space where the Lithe beast had shattered, then settling with keen intensity on Vespera, who floated with unwavering calm beside David.

"Especially her," she murmured, a hint of something complex, perhaps curiosity, perhaps envy, in her ancient voice.

But her faint smile, if it could be called that, quickly faded, replaced by the same cold, unyielding resolve. The brief flicker of curiosity was extinguished, replaced by the vast, unyielding arrogance of her power. "Still," she declared, her voice once again a blade of ice, "I have no words for intruders fated to die." The pronouncement was a final, undeniable barrier, a refusal of any further exchange.

***

Meanwhile, the battle intensified elsewhere in the colossal dark room. Seraphina, her usually pristine coat now singed at the edges from the constant magical onslaught, was visibly beginning to be pushed back.

Her puppet opponent, despite being engulfed in her lightning and flame, seemed to possess an unnatural resilience, its tattered cloak still obscuring its true form as it relentlessly pressed its attack. Each strike was met with another, every defensive ward straining under the puppet's relentless, unthinking force.

Seraphina gritted her teeth, sweat beading on her brow as she poured more mana into her spells, the faint scent of ozone clinging to her. She was powerful, but this was a war of attrition against an unfeeling, tireless foe.

Vivian, while still holding the line with a terrifying ferocity, was growing visibly frustrated. Her obsidian sword, a blur of crimson and black, clashed against her puppet opponent with jarring force. Each parry, each riposte, was delivered with absolute precision, aimed to dismantle.

But the puppet, though suffering numerous gashes in its tattered cloak and a limb twisted at an impossible angle, simply kept coming, its movements becoming even more erratic and unpredictable. Vivian's emerald eyes, usually so cold and focused, now held a flicker of genuine annoyance. This creature didn't feel pain, didn't tire, didn't react to strategy.

It was a relentless machine designed only to overwhelm. She pressed her attack, a storm of lethal strikes, seeking any opening, any weakness, but the puppet, a shadow in motion, seemed to anticipate her most lethal thrusts. The air around her hummed with her suppressed anger, a palpable sense of a predator being denied its prey.