The heat rose thicker here, heavier, almost solid, as Thomas, Liora, and Eddric crested the edge of a jagged obsidian ridge. The plateau stretched endlessly below, rivers of molten fire winding between blackened spires, and figures moved with unnatural grace—or unnatural violence. But one figure dominated them all: a shadow among shadows, a tower of horns and jagged black scales, pulsing with a power that made even the strongest demons bow instinctively.
Malrik.
Thomas had heard whispers of the tyrant's cruelty among the newly turned demons. Few survived encounters with him, and those who did carried scars—physical, mental, and spiritual—that never healed. And now, from this vantage, Thomas understood the truth.
Malrik moved through the molten haze with terrifying ease, each step bending the ground beneath him as if the plateau itself feared him. Smaller demons scuttled along the edges of his path, some crawling, others writhing in forms twisted by sin. They dared not raise eyes to him, dared not breathe too loudly. A single glance, a single ripple of his immense presence, could break them entirely.
Thomas's claws flexed, molten veins flaring. "He's… enormous," he muttered, voice thick with awe and fear.
Liora hissed, coiling around his side. "And cruel beyond measure. Watch closely. Survival here is not strength alone—it is obedience, cunning, and timing. He kills not only for dominance but for lesson. He punishes the weak, but also those who challenge him. Nothing escapes Malrik's notice."
They watched as Malrik approached a group of demons near a river of molten fire. One had been careless, stepping too close to the edge. The tyrant's eyes, glowing faintly with molten fire, locked onto the offender. In an instant, the demon's body twisted violently, bones snapping in unnatural directions, skin hardening into jagged obsidian. The screams echoed across the plateau, horrifying yet strangely rhythmic, like a terrible symphony.
"That is obedience," Liora whispered. "Or submission through pain. Learn it now."
Eddric's long limbs flexed tensely. "He is not merely strong. He is… absolute. The Circle gives him more than power. It obeys him, bends reality to his will, because he has survived longer than any other, and he understands its rules better than anyone."
Thomas felt a chill—even in the heat. The fragment of humanity inside him recoiled, remembering fairness, compassion, the world of Brackenford. But the instinct, raw and urgent, reminded him that fairness had no place here. Strength, cunning, and adaptation were the only currencies that mattered.
Malrik moved on, leaving behind the shattered demon, its body twitching and glowing in molten pain. Others in the group immediately prostrated themselves, whispers of apology and feigned loyalty spilling from twisted mouths. Thomas realized with a jolt: rebellion here was not a choice—it was a death sentence.
"Do you understand now?" Liora's voice was a hiss, almost lost in the oppressive heat. "This is the hierarchy. Those who obey, survive. Those who challenge… do not live long enough to learn. The Circle allows him dominion, because he is the model of what the Circle demands: strength tempered by cunning, power guided by instinct. Any weakness is punished, any mistake exploited."
Thomas's claws flexed reflexively. He thought of the newly fallen humans, the grotesque forms of their sins, the Circle's pull, the molten rivers, the spires, the shadows whispering fragments of lives left behind. Survival here was more than power—it was calculation. Every step, every glance, every movement had to account for what Malrik—and the Circle—wanted.
"Then we learn quickly," Thomas muttered. The words tasted strange, harsh even to him, but they carried determination. "We survive, and we understand. Or we die."
Liora's eyes gleamed. "Good. There are lessons beyond even what you see. Beyond fire, molten rock, and claws. You will learn them soon enough. Malrik is not the only threat. But he is the first you must understand."
Thomas watched as Malrik disappeared into the molten haze, leaving the plateau trembling in residual heat. The memory of the tyrant's cruelty lingered, a weight pressing into Thomas's molten veins. He flexed his claws experimentally, molten blood pulsing along jagged black plates. The hunger, the instinct, the raw strength within him all surged—but now there was a new element: caution. Calculation. Observation.
"Will he… notice us?" Thomas asked quietly.
"Perhaps," Eddric replied. "Perhaps not. It does not matter. The lesson is in watching, learning, and surviving. Do not assume invisibility grants safety. Only mastery does."
They moved carefully across the jagged ridge, observing other demon groups as they navigated rivers of molten fire and jagged obsidian spires. Some struggled, succumbing to instincts that ran too wild, too hungry, too human. Others thrived, already twisted into grotesque forms but aware enough to exploit the environment. Thomas noted every detail, every twitch of muscle, every glimmer of molten vein. Adaptation was the key.
Night—or what passed for it in the empty sky—fell in shadows and heatwaves. The plateau shimmered with the distant glow of the Circle of Runes, but Thomas understood now that proximity alone was not enough. Mastery was required, and mastery demanded knowledge: of the hellscape, of its hazards, of allies, enemies, and the tyrant who ruled through fear.
They paused atop a high ridge, molten rivers reflecting the green glow of the distant Circle. Thomas's claws dug into the jagged rock, molten veins pulsing with anticipation. He had survived the fall, adapted to his new form, and witnessed the first demonstration of Malrik's power. Yet he felt a spark of determination within him, a sliver of humanity that refused to be fully consumed.
"Tomorrow," he said, voice rough and alien, "we learn more. We survive the hellscape. We understand the Circle. And we—"
Liora's hiss cut him off softly, almost a whisper. "We endure, Thomas. Not because it is easy. Not because it is fair. Because only endurance grants the chance to rise. And rising… may be the only way to survive Malrik."
Thomas flexed his claws again, molten veins flaring bright in the oppressive heat. He looked toward the distant Circle, its pulsing green light a reminder of both danger and opportunity. Malrik's shadow loomed in his mind, terrifying and absolute. But beneath the fear, beneath the hunger and instinct, a determination burned. He would endure. He would learn. And when the time came, he would rise.
For now, survival was everything—and Malrik was the first lesson.