The arena floor blazed white-hot, centuries of accumulated death igniting into inferno that made breathing feel like inhaling molten glass.

Azrael's Black Flame responded immediately, creating protective barrier around him. But this wasn't like deflecting attacks or consuming divine judgment. This was environmental. Constant. The entire arena had become oven designed to cook anything inside it slowly, thoroughly, completely.

"Second trial is endurance," the Demon King called from his safe ...