"Good," Kael smiled as he backed away.
He kept his feet light, weight on the balls, shoulders loose. Not because he felt relaxed, but because his body had learned the hard way that tension made you slow, and slow got you cooked. The heat still rolled off the Ifrit in waves, brushing his armor like invisible hands. Even with the leather set, even with the helmet, it felt like standing near an open kiln.
The Ifrit realized something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out what. It kept trying to turn to face Kael, but kept missing, until it figured out what to do. It went to grip the ground with its arms only to have its cracked gauntlets dig too deeply into it.
The claws of stone punched into asphalt like it was wet clay, and the street hissed where the heat touched it. The Ifrit tried to anchor itself, like an animal digging claws into earth before it pounces, except the extra force made it bury itself instead.
Still, it was enough for the Ifrit.
Kael kept slowly backing away.
