The night sky fractured like a mirror as Northern's clones surged forward. A hundred figures blurred into motion, their movements synchronized yet chaotic, like a swarm of starlings twisting as one.
Fire erupted from their left hands—crimson tongues lashing the dark—while ice crystallized in their right, jagged shards glinting like broken diamonds. The air rebelled, groaning under the duality of scorching heat and glacial cold.
After yanking away Nebulous Lord's arms, the Abysmal Belial glared with wicked intensity. The demented grin on its face only widened as it shifted its full attention to the storm of clones flying toward it.
It lunged, its four arms splayed like the spokes of a wheel. Where its clawed fingers grazed the air, trails of blackened distortion followed, as though reality itself charred at its touch. Northern's clones struck first.
