Hovering above them, Nyxira’s crimson eyes glimmered with cruel amusement as a guttural laugh rumbled from her throat, shaking the treetops.
“Pathetic little gnats,” she mocked, her voice carrying a chilling resonance. “Is this the best the Seraphborn can muster? You will die here… feeding the soil beneath my claws.”
Her booming laughter echoed, taunting them — until it abruptly shifted into a piercing, ear-splitting scream of agony. The sound reverberated through the forest, rattling every branch and stone, as Nyxira staggered back, clutching her stomach in pain.
Amidst the chaos, a glimmer of frost caught the fading light — Mildred’s calm, calculated strike. Her hands moved with eerie precision as shards of ice spiraled toward Nyxira. One shard slipped beneath the towering queen’s gua
