One side burned with shadow flame, black fire that writhed like living serpents. The other flickered with unnatural frost, a glacial blue so cold it seemed to freeze the starlight itself.
Fire and ice. Opposites, yet bound together in one will.
Emery's grip tightened on both weapons. His stance shifted, sharper, his aura splitting into two currents—frost and flame—before spiraling back into a single, terrifying balance. The void trembled around him, as though the cosmos itself bent beneath his intent.
A slow breath escaped him. His crossed swords glowed, their edges howling with power. Then, with one fluid motion, he slashed.
Twin arcs of power roared forward. One carried the suffocating blaze of the abyss, heat so fierce it warped the void. The other carried the chilling bite of death's embrace, an icicle fang of annihilation. Within both energies lurked echoes of something monstrous; faint dragon-like cries resounded through his blades.
