The chamber of the Ice Monarch became a crucible of clashing divinities.
When Atlas and Sekhmet's auras flared simultaneously, the air itself fractured under the strain—visible cracks of light and shadow spiderwebbing through the frozen atmosphere like glass under pressure.
Golden-black radiance from Atlas pressed outward in suffocating waves, heavy with the weight of stolen demon-god essence, while Sekhmet's sunfire surged in blazing arcs that warped the frost-lined walls, melting and refreezing them in rapid, violent cycles. The temperature war turned the citadel into a battlefield of extremes—steam hissing where heat met ice, frost blooming where cold clawed back dominance.
The Ice Monarch answered not with haste, but with inevitability.
