Nyla stared at the space where Nibo had been, where her brother—no, the thing wearing her brother's face—had just killed someone she'd fought beside, someone who'd protected them, someone who'd—
The cold that exploded from her wasn't technique anymore.
It was rage given temperature.
{Ability Activated: Winter's Requiem}
The entire arena's temperature dropped so far that the stone itself began to crack from thermal shock. Frost spread from Nyla's position in expanding waves, covering everything, turning the battlefield into a frozen wasteland. The air crystallized, becoming difficult to breathe, each inhalation burning lungs with cold that exceeded anything natural winter produced.
The other fighters felt their movements slow, felt ice forming on their skin despite the divine gift's protection. But they also felt something else—Nyla's cold was avoiding them, wrapping around them without freezing them, creating safe pockets in the killing temperature.
