The cloaked man's laughter echoed across the chamber, a sound that made the hair on Amberine's neck stand on end. It wasn't just mocking—it was sinister, resonating with dark amusement. He stepped forward from the smoldering remains of Amberine's attack, emerging from the haze of blue flames and scorched air, untouched and undeterred. The fire she'd put her entire being into, the power she'd summoned alongside Ifrit, had done nothing. Nothing but entertain him.
Amberine's legs gave out beneath her, her knees hitting the hard stone floor with a painful thud. The last of her mana had drained, and now even Ifrit's presence was flickering within her, his once strong, steady warmth reduced to faint embers. "I'm getting tired too, Amberine," his voice whispered, weak and thin, a mere breath against the roaring dread that filled her. "The mana here is twisted… I can't restore myself…"
