The molten fire halted mid-air, a searing wave of destruction frozen in time, its glow extinguished in an instant.
Clap.
The sound reverberated across the battlefield, soft yet commanding, as though the world itself bowed to its authority. In its wake, the oppressive heat that had suffocated the barren wasteland vanished, replaced by an unnatural, bone-deep chill. The once-fiery landscape transformed into a scene of haunting stillness.
Everything froze.
The molten abomination, its grotesque form once alive with searing energy, was now a towering sculpture of frost. Its jagged, molten back, dripping with fire moments ago, was encased in shimmering ice that radiated an ethereal, pale glow. The heat that had warped the air now hung motionless, each ripple crystallized into translucent threads that fractured the moonlight into a thousand fleeting rainbows.
The ground, cracked and scorched from their battle, turned a pristine white, as if winter itself had descended in an instant. Every crack, every ember, was buried beneath an immaculate layer of frost. The jagged boulders and shattered debris were cloaked in ice, their sharp edges softened by a delicate sheen that glimmered under the twin moons.
Grey's charred and broken form lay amidst this frozen tableau, the steam rising from his body crystallizing into tiny, glistening shards that drifted down like snow. His breath, shallow and strained, was visible in the frigid air, each exhalation a fleeting cloud that dissipated into the eerie stillness.
The silence was absolute, as though the very concept of sound had been stripped away.
From above, a figure descended.
She moved as though gravity itself dared not touch her, her crimson hair cascading in waves of firelight, a stark contrast to the pale frost beneath her. Elsa's blue eyes glowed with a serene intensity, like the calm before a storm on an endless ocean. Her presence was commanding, her every movement deliberate, as though she were the conductor of this symphony of frost.
The faintest touch of her boots on the frost-covered ground sent delicate cracks spiraling outward, the ice responding to her presence as if acknowledging its master. She stood over Grey's broken body, her expression unreadable.
Her power lingered in the air, an oppressive weight that seemed to hold reality itself hostage. This was not merely ice or frost—it was a manifestation of absolute control, a force that had rewritten the very fabric of the battlefield. Time, heat, movement—everything was at her mercy.
Elsa's gaze swept over the frozen monster, her lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. With a flick of her wrist, the air around her shimmered, and the frost tightened its grip on the creature. Cracks spread across its frozen form, and with a shattering crash, the monster splintered into countless fragments, the glowing remnants of its molten core extinguished forever.
She turned her attention to Grey, her ocean-blue eyes narrowing as she took in his battered, half-melted state.
"Fool," she whispered, her voice soft but sharp, a single note of disdain carried on the icy wind.
The frost beneath her feet deepened as she knelt beside him. For a moment, the moons above framed her figure, a fiery-haired angel of death in a world of white.
And then, with a sigh, she reached out, her power receding just enough to allow the faintest hint of warmth to return to the air. The frost on Grey's body cracked and fell away, replaced by the steady, rhythmic pulse of life—a fragile ember struggling to burn amidst the cold.
The faint glow of the molten battlefield clung to existence in defiance of the encroaching frost. As Elsa moved toward Grey's broken form, she exuded a commanding presence, her aura of icy dominance unwavering. Kneeling beside him, she retrieved a vial of shimmering liquid from her storage ring—a potion radiating a soft golden light, a stark contrast to the frigid surroundings.
"Drink this," she muttered, her voice carrying both impatience and faint amusement. She tilted his head gently, pressing the vial to his cracked lips. The liquid poured down his throat, spreading a soothing warmth through his body. Grey's breath hitched, his ragged gasps becoming steadier as the potion worked its magic. The burns along his flesh began to heal, charred skin giving way to pale, unmarred flesh, though his exhaustion remained etched in every line of his face.
Elsa stood and hoisted Grey onto her back effortlessly, his limp form draping over her slender frame like a discarded cloak. For a moment, she glanced at him, her ocean-blue eyes flickering with a trace of an emotion she didn't bother to name.
"What a mess," she murmured. With a soft sigh, she prepared to take flight, the ice beneath her feet cracking faintly in protest as her power surged.
Just as she rose into the air, a faint golden glow caught her attention—a warmth that defied the frost she had so effortlessly commanded. She paused mid-step, her gaze narrowing at the shards of the frozen abomination. Among the debris, a singular golden rock pulsed faintly, its heat melting the surrounding frost in delicate rivulets.
Elsa frowned, curiosity flashing in her blue eyes. Carefully lowering Grey to the ground, she approached the glowing fragment. Its heat intensified as she neared, yet it did not burn her. Kneeling, she extended a hand toward the rock, her fingers brushing its surface.
The moment her fingertips touched the golden stone, a soft hum reverberated through the frozen wasteland. A faint, intricate rune flared to life upon the stone's surface, its lines glowing with a vibrant, molten energy. Elsa's eyes widened ever so slightly, her composed demeanor cracking for a fraction of a second.
"A rune?" she whispered, her voice tinged with awe. "A rare find… to extract a rune from a monster's corpse is almost unheard of. The odds—" She paused, calculating, "—one in ten thousand, maybe even less."
Her gaze flickered back to Grey, still motionless on the frost-covered ground. His injuries, though partially healed, spoke of a man who had defied death itself. The faintest smirk tugged at her lips.
"What a lucky fool," she said, her tone carrying a mix of mockery and reluctant admiration. Without further hesitation, she stored the rune within her ring, its golden glow disappearing into the void. Turning back to Grey, she lifted him once more, securing him on her back with an ease that belied her strength.
With a final glance at the battlefield—now a haunting blend of ice, frost, and shattered fragments of molten death—Elsa ascended into the night sky. Her crimson hair danced in the wind like fire, and her ocean-blue eyes glinted with a knowing sharpness.
The frozen wasteland faded behind her as she vanished into the darkness, carrying Grey toward an uncertain fate.