The frozen clearing trembled beneath their feet, a battlefield now cratered and scarred from the monumental clash. The air crackled with tension, frosted steam rising in thick plumes around the combatants. Kaldaroth stood at the center, calm and collected, the cursed runes along his arms glowing with a sinister purple hue. His eyes gleamed with a predator's delight, sharp teeth bared in a grin.
Regnare snarled, the snow flurrying around his feet with each breath. His teammates lay paralyzed or buried in snowbanks, barely conscious but alive. His fury burned hotter than any flame, and yet his breath steamed with frost. Steam and snow mixed into a tempest around him.
"You're protecting them… admirable," Kaldaroth muttered. "But you're still weak."
He raised a clawed hand, and the wind howled with unnatural force as cursed ice daggers formed in a ring above him, rotating like blades in a magical turbine.
Regnare growled, "Weak? You think this... is all I've got?"
