Vergil's mental world had rarely been a peaceful place. Within its depths, fragmented memories, pieces of hell, trails of ice, and embers of fire coexisted like eternal battlefields. It was a landscape that changed with every moment: now an endless black abyss, now a plain illuminated by flowers that would never exist in the physical world.
In that instant, chaos reigned.
Nivara—the ice dragon—roared in fury, her crystal wings slicing the sky, unleashing freezing blasts that transformed entire mountains into statues of brittle glass. Crymsaria—the fire dragon—responded with incandescent flames, her every breath tearing the horizon into flaming storms. The air crackled, the heavens trembled, and the very ground seemed to scream in pain under the incessant clash.
The duel had already lasted so long that time had lost its meaning. Neither was willing to yield. Every blow was personal. Each attack carried not only power, but also resentment.
Until…
The impossible happened.
