~Ice Land, Deagara, Frozen Castle.
Gloria staggered forward, her boots skidding on the fractured cobblestones slick with blood and snow. The castle's ruined floor– once blessed with life and extremely regal a house for luxury Faes– now betrayed her with every uneven edge and shattered stone.
Each breath came ragged, white puffs vanishing into the icy air that clung to her skin like death's fingers. Panic shimmered in her eyes, bright and raw, a fierce scream barely contained behind clenched teeth. She had to be quiet. Those freaking scary demons could already smell her scent so a single noise could make it easier for them. Damn! Could they even feel the cold? It didn't seem so.
"There, it's warm. Get inside the circle and take the Spike," Azrael urged, voice sharp as the crisp cold air. His gaze snapped to a shadow-drenched corner, shoulders stiffening like a wolf scenting a predator.
The ground groaned. Then it roared.
