The arena fell into stunned silence—then erupted in a wave of disbelief that rippled through both Heaven's host and the distant fallen watchers alike.
Angels, avatars and originals alike, stared with wings half-frozen mid-flutter. Fallen sentries on the edges of Lucifer's court exchanged wide-eyed glances. Even the hellbeast sitting obediently outside the gates tilted its three heads, ears perked.
Too many reasons.
The avatar Elara had kicked into the ground was no novice—it carried the distilled experience of millennia of celestial warfare. Even scaled down to lesser-demon rank, its reflexes, timing, and instinct should have been flawless. No child, no matter how talented, should have landed a clean hit like that.
And she was nine.
But then eyes—golden, crimson, curious—dropped to the faint markings flickering across her bare arms and legs as she landed. Thin, elegant lines of pure shadow curled over her skin like living tattoos, pulsing gently with each breath.
Shadow runes.
