Dremmy staggered back, disbelief etched on his face. His hands, once steady on the drumsticks, now shook as they were consumed by a creeping layer of frost. His breath hitched, visible puffs of mist escaping his mouth as the temperature continued to drop. The cold was beginning to seep into him, deeper than the surface wounds he had ignored before.
Josefu took a step forward, and with each movement, the ice beneath him cracked and spread, as if his mere presence was pulling the room into a frozen void. His gaze was as sharp and deadly as the ice shards still hanging in the air.
Dremmy's mind raced. How had it come to this? He had controlled the battle. His drums, his celestial pillar, were supposed to make him invincible. But now, standing before him was a man who had done the unthinkable—Josefu had frozen his own heart.
