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[i]The ebb and flow of the streams of time...
As natural as the sea and as mighty as the wind.
Domains fueled by Chronus and her chosen.
That stream has halted,
Her authority revoked,
I will see it set in pace again.[/i]

Ifrit has never been in a truly life or death situation. Albeit, never in one outside of his own volition. By the very nature of rediscovering Lost Arts, the coin toss of life and death through its exploration is a burden one must carry. A payment for the chance at unseen powers. Ifrit paid this price when he was a White Mage. He continued to do so as he saw Azuria build the guild up from the ground. The imminent threat of death was a feeling Ifrit was used to. But this... This felt different. Never before has he been challenged like this. Thrown time and time again to the limits of his power, only to rise again like the Phoenix he represents. Was this the power of a True Devil? Would he not be enough? His Guild?

His ascension to his Devil Slayer state sapped him of what little mana reserves he had left. Much less his ultimate move, [i]Aeon, Era, Origin of Creation[/i]. In truth, the narcissist in him truly thought it was enough to stop Setsuka. He let his stoic mask slip, relished in the thought of it. Hell, he even screamed a challenge at Elektra.

[i]"Man, I need to watch my mouth next time."[/i]

Setsuka rose from their bout. Unscathed and at a new level of power. This time, Ifrit could not rise to meet her. Were it not for Jehrico, Jaina, and all the others joining him, he surely would have died. Now, engrossed in a mass melee to decide the fate of the world, he does what he can to aid. A sigil of power there, a Time/Accelerate there. From the back, Ifrit kept weaving words of power together and altering the flow of Time to better aid his teammates. He hated being relagated to a support position. But until he can regain some Mana, he can't help any other way.