Lucifer's brows furrowed slightly as he turned his sword and caught the incoming spell on the flat. Blood miasma hissed against the steel, scattered, and thinned into mist against the ancient stone.
Across from him, Bishop Vale glanced away again—toward the far side of the chamber, where Arthur and the Vampire Elder were tearing the room apart.
The fourth time.
Through God's Eyes, Lucifer watched the miasma move around the Bishop. Not lines, the way textbooks drew it, but weather: crimson currents pooling in Vale's palms a half-second before each spell, thinning wherever his attention went. Right now, they thinned on his left side every time Arthur's sword rang against the Elder's spear.
"You're looking away a lot," Lucifer said.
He brought his free hand down. Six circles bloomed beneath his fingers, and an avalanche of ice came down out of nothing onto the Bishop.
