Snow hissed against skin, then flesh.
Asmodea danced across the frozen field, her petals unfolding behind her like blood-dyed banners. Every step left roses in her wake—sharp, curling, edged in crimson.
"Come now, pretty blade," she sang. "Are you going to make me sweat, or just prance around looking fancy?"
Kaaz didn't reply. He moved.
A slash.
Then another.
His attacks playful, lacking killing intent. Not yet. They were measured—testing. His obsidian blade-arm flicked in mechanical arcs, carving strands of wind off her dress without touching her skin.
"Tch." She narrowed her eyes. "Silent types are the worst. At least Gorrhan flirts when he tries to murder you."
Kaaz's blade snapped up fast.
She ducked, feeling it sing past her cheek. A strand of hair split in mid-air.
"Your steps are shallow," he said coldly."Your blood is loud."
"You don't deserve him."
She froze.
