Somewhere in the modern world called Earth, down in a city just as unimpressive as the rest, there was a college. And inside one of its stuffy, fluorescent-lit classrooms, Damien Cross—a nineteen-year-old hurricane in human skin—was absolutely ignoring his professor while devouring a bag of chili-lime chips.
His hair was a mess of natural black waves, medium-length and tousled, with a fringe always trying to blind one of his golden-flecked dark brown eyes. He sat sprawled out in his seat like the throne was his, chips crackling in hand, chewing with lazy confidence while the class droned on around him. The room buzzed with lectures on something that definitely wasn't snack-related, but Damien didn't care.
Crunch.
Crunch.
The noise echoed like a war drum of rebellion.
He didn't even try to be subtle. Each bite was loud, theatrical, and dipped in delicious disrespect. The professor was already twitching.
"Damien Cross!" the professor snapped, red-faced and clearly at the end of his rope. "This is college, not a picnic! Put the snacks away and pay attention!"
Damien, perfectly composed mid-chew, raised one brow as if the man had just suggested he eat drywall.
"I am paying attention," Damien said calmly, licking spicy dust off his fingers. "This flavor profile is a masterpiece of modern chemistry. Salt, heat, citrus—honestly, Teach, it's got more complexity than your lecture."
Laughter erupted across the room. Several students chuckled. One choked trying not to laugh too hard.
"You think this is funny?!" the professor bellowed, slamming a palm against the desk. "You're disrupting the entire lesson, Damien! There's a group project on comparative systems of governance due next week and you're in La-La Snack Land!"
Damien gave him a look, deadpan and unbothered.
"Give me five minutes. The chips have diplomatic immunity."
Another wave of laughter.
"You see what I deal with?" the teacher gestured wildly to the class. "He's mocking the curriculum! The integrity of this institution!"
"It's funny and annoying," muttered a girl in the back.
"Legend," whispered someone else again.
"He always does this," a guy muttered. "And gets away with it."
"Doesn't he care about anything?"
Damien answered for them all: "Not when I've got chip dust nirvana in my mouth."
The teacher was trembling. "One more word out of you and I—"
RIIIIIIIIIIINGGGG!
The bell sang its salvation. The professor's soul visibly left his body.
"Alright, get out of here! Everyone, go home. See you tomorrow," he grumbled, rubbing his temple.
Chairs scraped. Backpacks zipped. Students sprang to their feet like they'd been unchained.
"I'm hitting the gym. Gotta work on the gains."
"Video game marathon. Snacks and monsters. The drink, not the beast."
"Double date. Wish me luck."
Damien stood slowly, stretching with exaggerated grace. He tipped the empty bag like a goblet, getting the last fleck of spice dust onto his tongue.
"A symphony of flavor," he whispered reverently. "Ten outta ten."
He strolled out of the classroom, ignoring the glares, the snickers, the praise, the judgment. He had snacks. He had freedom.
He stepped into the street like it owed him money. The sun was still high, sky painted with lazy clouds. His footsteps echoed in rhythm with each crunch.
"Outta chips already? Blasphemy," Damien muttered. "I need reinforcements. Emergency supply trip engaged."
He walked with that casual, cocky energy like the world spun because he said so. With one hand deep in his hoodie pocket and the other crumpling the chip bag like a war medal, he made his way toward his favorite store.
The small, somewhat dusty corner shop stood proudly between a dying laundromat and a closed-down internet café. Damien pushed open the door. The familiar ding of the bell sounded like a welcome home.
"Mr. K!" Damien called out. "Don't tell me someone beat me to the chili-lime death crunchers."
From behind the counter, an old man with square glasses and a permanent eye-roll looked up. Mr. Katsuro, or as Damien called him, "Mr. K," didn't flinch.
"You're late, brat. Your sacred chips are almost gone. Again."
"Blasphemy. That should be illegal," Damien said, heading straight for the snack aisle.
Mr. K crossed his arms. "Maybe if you didn't inhale them like oxygen, they'd last longer."
"Hey, I've been coming here since I could reach the candy shelf," Damien argued, grabbing three bags with divine precision. "You owe me loyalty snacks."
Mr. K snorted. "I owe you nothing. You've been stealing samples since you were six. I still have the footage."
Damien grinned. "That was a taste test for your inventory. I was quality control."
"You were a walking stomach with sticky fingers."
"Still am. Just taller."
Mr. K chuckled despite himself. "One of these days, you're gonna eat something you regret."
"Probably," Damien said, dropping a crumpled bill on the counter. "But today's not that day. Today's a spicy miracle."
He held the bags like a holy relic, bowed sarcastically, and strolled out with the swagger of a man who just secured the last rations in an apocalypse.
Outside, he ripped one bag open instantly, shoving a chip into his mouth with reverence.
"Sweet flaming dragons, this is better than inner peace," he murmured. "Who needs therapy when you've got chili-lime bliss?"
He kept walking, down familiar streets lined with trees, shops, and passing strangers.
"When I get home, I'm gonna finish this bag, take a hot shower, play some games, and maybe, maybe do homework. Nah—snacks first, sleep second, chaos third."
And then—
"P-please! Leave us alone!"
Damien froze mid-bite. His head snapped toward the sound like a hunting dog catching scent.
"...The hell was that?"
Another cry echoed. "We don't have any money, please!"
Damien's eyes locked onto an alleyway. Shadows twisted between the brick walls. And there—
A couple—young, terrified—pressed back against the cold bricks. Three men surrounded them. One brandished a knife. Another pointed a gun. The third was laughing with wild eyes.
Damien's bag of chips slipped slightly in his grip.
FLASHBACK:
Screams. A man shouting. His mother's arms wrapped around him.
"Run, Damien!"
A flash. A bang. Blood. Her body hitting the ground.
His mother. Gone.
The same helpless feeling threatened to drown him—but not today.
Damien's vision refocused, burning.
The three thugs were laughing.
"Give us the money, Romeo, or Juliet here gets a new smile."
Two of them cackled. The one with the knife twirled it like a toy.
Damien's breathing slowed. His blood boiled. His hand clenched tight around the chip bag—crushing it.
"Not today," he whispered.
He stepped forward.
"HEY!!"
The shout echoed like thunder through the alley.
The robbers turned, startled. The couple flinched.
"Who the hell is that?" asked the gunman.
"Just some punk," said Knife Guy.
"Another idiot to rob," smirked the third.
Damien walked forward, eyes glowing with fury.
"I'm just a guy," he said darkly. "A citizen. Who doesn't like watching three walking disappointments threaten people."
They laughed.
"You got jokes, snack boy," the gunman chuckled, stepping forward.
He stood face-to-face with Damien, grinning with rotten teeth. "So what're you gonna do, citizen? Stand there and look pretty while I—"
CRACK!
Damien headbutted him mid-sentence.
The man crumpled like a wet paper bag, falling to the ground and howling in pain.
"AHH! My nose! You psycho! You broke my nose!"
The other two stumbled back.
"Holy crap, boss! You alright?!"
"His face's a mess!"
The leader writhed on the ground, blood pouring down his face. "Get him! Cut him up!" he screamed.
The two nodded, pulling out their knives.
"You're dead!" one yelled.
"We'll make you scream!" said the other, both grinning.
Damien dropped into a fighting stance.
"Bring it on, Ugly and Uglier. Let's dance."
They lunged.
The first thug swiped low. Damien dodged, spinning. The second aimed for his side. Damien raised his arm—cut—pain, but not deep.
He grinned through the sting. "You cut me. That was your first mistake."
He jabbed the first thug twice in the gut, then uppercut him. The man gasped and stumbled.
The second came from behind. Damien ducked, swept his leg, and sent the man crashing to the ground.
Both rose—slower, bloodier.
"You're insane!" one spat.
"Compliment accepted."
He launched forward. A flurry of punches, then a spinning roundhouse kick that dropped both to the pavement, groaning and barely conscious.
Damien stood over them, blood on his sleeve, breathing hard.
"Are you two alright?" he asked, turning to the couple.
They nodded, still shaking. "Th-thank you."
Behind him—
"DIE, YOU LITTLE BRAT!"
He spun.
The gunman, nose broken and furious, stood on shaky legs, pistol raised.
"WATCH OUT!" the couple screamed.
BANG!
The bullet flew.
Damien had no time to dodge.
It slammed into his chest.
The world tilted. The pain bloomed white-hot. He stumbled. Fell.
The alley spun.
Thud.
He hit the ground, unmoving.
The robbers stared.
"We—we shot him!"
"Let's get out of here!"
They ran.
The couple rushed to Damien's side.
"Please! Hold on! You're gonna be okay! We'll call someone! Don't die!"
Damien couldn't hear them.
The pain was fading. His vision dimmed. The chip bag lay beside him, crushed and empty.
His last thought was bitter.
Didn't even get to finish the bag...
Blackness swallowed him whole.
A few minutes later…
Damien stirred.
His eyelids fluttered. For a moment, everything was still. Then—
"Ugh... what the..."
He blinked slowly, trying to focus. Above him stretched a black ceiling. No stars. No light. Just... nothing.
"Where... am I?"
He sat up, groaning. The ground beneath him felt like solid shadow, cool and weightless. Around him, endless black. No walls. No sound.
Just Damien. Alone.
He stood slowly, clutching his ribs. There was no pain—just dull memory.
Then it hit him.
The alley.
The couple.
The thugs.
Bang.
The memory slammed into him like a train. His chest tightening, vision flashing.
The gun. The blood. Falling. Cold pavement. Silence.
He had died.
"I actually... died," he muttered, his voice echoing strangely. "Saving them. Damn... I didn't even get to finish my chips."
Frustration mixed with grief and confusion.
His fists clenched. Rage simmered beneath the surface.
"HELLO!!!!" he suddenly screamed, his voice reverberating off the void like thunder.
"ANYONE?! ANYTHING?!"
No answer.
"Great," Damien muttered. "Stuck in an existential waiting room. Cool."
He was about to shout again when a voice sliced through the silence, smooth and amused:
"Well, well... what do we have here?"
Damien spun. "Who's there?! Show yourself!"
The ground trembled beneath his feet.
"Okay—what the actual hell—"
Cracks split through the darkness like lightning across glass. Red light bled through, pulsing with heat.
"What is that...?"
The cracks widened, glowing hotter. A low rumble echoed like an ancient beast awakening.
"Okay, that's not ominous at all. Definitely nothing horrifying about hellfire cracks beneath my feet—"
Flames erupted.
Molten fire burst through the ground, circling Damien. Heat brushed his skin—but it didn't burn.
He flinched instinctively, arms up to shield his face.
But the fire didn't hurt.
It welcomed him.
Seconds passed. Then—
He opened his eyes.
The void was gone.
In its place: an awe-inspiring domain of flame and wonder.
Molten rivers flowed like veins through black stone. Spires of obsidian stretched into the sky, glowing with runic fire. Ember-laced air shimmered like a mirage. The sky above was crimson-red, laced with swirling galaxies and planets burning softly like cinders in a dark hearth.
Damien turned in place, stunned.
"Okay... so the void turned into some kind of fire fantasy realm," he said to himself. "Definitely not Kansas anymore. Or Earth. Or sanity."
He took a few steps forward.
"This is... kinda beautiful. In a terrifying, 'I-might-be-dead' way."
Just as he was about to mutter more sarcastic commentary, another voice echoed through the fire-warmed air. But this one was clearer. Feminine. Commanding.
"Welcome to my world, Damien Cross."
He turned.
In the distance, a massive obsidian throne sat atop a wide staircase made of emberstone. It rose high, regal and ancient. The throne itself pulsed with heat—cracks of molten lava snaking beneath the black surface.
And atop that throne...
She sat.
Not a queen.
Not a woman.
A goddess.
She was fire incarnate.
Her hair was a living solar flare—wild, luminous, cascading down her back like molten silk, drifting weightlessly even without wind.
Her skin was bronze kissed by the sun, flawless and glowing like light filtered through smoke. Intricate divine glyphs pulsed across her collarbones and hips, glowing with each word she hadn't even spoken yet.
Her gown clung to every inch of her like a whispered prayer of desperation. Fire-silk threads shifted between crimson, gold, and white-hot flame. The neckline plunged dangerously, revealing divine cleavage that shimmered with subtle runic light.
Her waist tapered perfectly into full, wide hips that promised destruction with every sway. Her legs, visible through thigh-high slits in the fire-weave gown, bore glowing runes like tattoos forged by gods.
On her head floated a crown of fire and gold. Phoenix-feather earrings flickered beside her long, regal neck. An armlet of coiled flame pulsed with her heartbeat.
One arm rested lazily on the throne's side. The other cradled a flickering orb of fire between elegant fingers.
Her eyes…
Twin golden suns ringed in flame. They locked on Damien like the universe itself had suddenly taken notice.
He froze.
That's… a goddess? No. The goddess? She's not real. She can't be real. No one looks like that.
He could feel her power from across the room. It wasn't just heat. It was presence. Pressure. Majesty.
She smiled.
It was playful. Dangerous. Divine.
"Who... who are you?" Damien managed, voice cracked.
Her smile widened.
"Hello, my little flame," she purred. "My name is Ignara Vermilion. The Goddess of Fire."
Damien screamed.
"WHAT. THE. HELL!?!"
Damien stood frozen in place, his mind spinning.
What the hell is this place?! he thought dramatically, his gaze darting around the surreal realm. This… burning sky? These rivers of lava? That throne of obsidian?! And why—why am I talking to a goddess of all things? Am I hallucinating? Did I actually get hit that hard?! What does she mean I wished for this?!
"No," the goddess said, her voice soft and lilting like a melody made of heat. "This is real, my little flame."
Damien's eyes widened.
She heard that?! What—how did she know—?!
Still confused and slightly annoyed, a sliver of fear creeping beneath the sarcasm, he muttered, "Why am I here? And are you really a fire goddess, or is this some divine fever dream?"
She giggled, a sound that crackled like a flame dancing on old parchment. "Impressed, honestly. Most mortals don't wake up after being shot and start grilling a goddess. But yes, I am the Goddess of Fire. And you're here because of what you did."
Damien narrowed his eyes. "I saved a couple. So what? I didn't do it for clout."
She tilted her head, smile widening. "You saved them because you didn't want another family to suffer. Not like you did. Not like when you saw your mother die in front of you."
His body went still.
"What... did you just say?"
She stepped closer, flame-light dancing in her eyes. "You were a child. You couldn't protect her. You blamed yourself. That pain's been inside you ever since—fueling your fights, your rage, your chaos."
His fists clenched.
"How do you know that?!"
"Because," she said gently, "I've been watching you. Since that day."
His voice trembled. "I... I couldn't do anything... just stood there while my mother... while she... I was weak."
Ignara slowly rose from her throne. The flames surrounding her responded instantly—flaring up with Damien's fury.
"It's going to be alright."
"HOW?!" Damien snapped, eyes glowing with pain. "I'm DEAD! She's GONE! How the hell is ANY of this alright?!"
Ignara didn't flinch. She stepped down the molten steps, each footfall sending sparks into the air.
"Because this," she said, "is your second chance."
She paused, then continued with fire in her voice: "And with it, I give you overwhelming power. The kind that makes kings kneel. The kind that makes nightmares burn."
Damien's thoughts burned. Overwhelming power? A second life?
I... I want that. Not for revenge. Not for glory. But because I don't want to be powerless again. I don't want to watch someone else die because I was too weak to help. Never again.
She stepped closer. Damien blinked—and suddenly, she was right in front of him.
Towering slightly. Warmth rolling off her skin like sunlight.
He staggered back instinctively—but didn't retreat.
What is she doing...?
Then she raised both hands… and gently cupped his face.
His breath caught.
Her hands… they're hot, but not burning. It's like... warmth I forgot I needed.
Their eyes locked. Hers burned with stars. His reflected loss… and hope.
Her voice was low, steady, impossibly warm. "You will become an Overpowered Fire Mage. Even at Level 1, your flame will be unmatched. Your magic will never run dry. And your temper? It will fuel your strength."
Damien's jaw slackened.
An... Overpowered Fire Mage? At Level 1?! Infinite fire magic? And my temper actually makes me stronger?!
He shook his head. "This... this isn't magic. This is madness."
Ignara laughed softly. "So, Damien... what do you think? Will you like this new life? This overwhelming firepower?"
He went silent.
The words. The warmth. The fire. All of it hit him at once.
Slowly, he nodded. His gaze sharpened with determination.
"Yes. I want it. I want to live again. I want to burn brighter than ever."
Ignara's smile grew.
"Good. Then let me show you what it means... to receive not fire... but the Origin of Fire."
Her hands still held his face, impossibly gentle, impossibly firm.
Then—she leaned in.
Before Damien could process it—her lips touched his.
Time stopped.
He didn't move. Couldn't.
Her breath was heat. Her lips were pressure and light and ancient power.
Her lips… they're soft. Fierce. I'm freaking out—what is she doing?! This isn't just a kiss, this is... this is something bigger. I can feel her heat, her soul, her everything... pouring into me. And her chest—gods—she's pressing against me...!
Her divine body is unreal. It's warm. Alive. I can feel every curve of her—like flame wrapped in silk. I can't move. I can't even think straight. This is too much.
Then he felt it.
A pulse. From her lips into him.
Like a divine heartbeat.
His eyes flew wide as something inside him—ignited.
A burning core burst to life in his chest. A sun awakening.
BOOOOOOM!!!
A sudden, deafening BOOM of heatwave exploded out from Damien in all directions — not a spark, not a flare, but an earth-shattering shockwave of raw, untamed fire aura. The very air combusted around him, sucked into the inferno that erupted from his soul. Rings of flame pulsed out in waves like shock pulses from a nuclear blast.
The divine obsidian floor beneath his feet cracked violently. Deep fissures spread like spiderwebs as glowing magma surged upward, filling the gaps with molten fury. The entire realm trembled with power as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Something's inside me… it's... alive. It's fire, but it's not burning me. It's like… it's ME. It's mine.
Damien gasped—but Ignara didn't let him pull away. She held the kiss a moment longer. It wasn't hungry. It wasn't lustful. It was something absolute. Uncompromising.
She wasn't just giving him a gift.
She was branding his soul—with purpose.
And as she leaned into him, her divine body pressed completely against his chest — ember-silk gown searing with intimate heat.
Her curves were impossible to ignore. Full. Powerful. Terrifyingly graceful.
Okay, okay, Damien panicked inside. Her chest is... enormous. Like, ridiculously divine-level huge. I can feel every inch of it pressing into me and I am trying to stay cool but she's literally MADE of fire and—gods—is this still part of the ritual or some insane goddess-level flirtation?!
Her warmth… it's not just physical. It's like she's replacing everything broken in me with something stronger. Her kiss is… he trembled in thought, it's deep. Transformative. I can't tell if it's love, or something even deeper. It's terrifying and beautiful and... unreal.
He murmured aloud, barely able to breathe:
"Her body… it's warm. Not just outside—she's warmth itself… and it's surrounding me. Filling me. Reforging me."
His breath hitched. His thoughts spiraled.
Her lips taste like spice and ash and starlight. She's not just touching me — she's becoming part of me. She's burning a piece of her existence into mine.
Then—
It hit.
The Power Surge.
FWWOOOOOM!
A golden flare erupted from Damien's chest — not just light, but a pillar of inverted flame, wild and radiant, climbing through the roof of the divine sky and piercing the very heavens. The energy blasted upward, shaking the world, splitting clouds of ash and fire across Ignara's realm.
His body lifted inches—then feet—off the ground, suspended in a fiery crucible.
Flames surged from his fingertips, his spine, his hair, and his eyes. His very heartbeat began to echo like a drum of volcanic thunder.
His aura detonated outward in massive rings—scarlet fire halos bursting and expanding again and again like solar shockwaves, each carrying ancient glyphs and runes. They spun around him like orbiting planets, igniting everything they touched.
The divine flames responded, swirling upward like a cyclone, wrapping around Damien as if greeting their new master.
I feel everything… every ember, every spark, like the world's made of fuel and I'm the match.
This power... it's not just magic. It's freedom. It's rage. It's purpose.
I can feel the ley lines of this place flowing through me. Every beat of my heart is a furnace. Every breath, a forge. I'm... alive. More alive than I've ever been.
Below him, the obsidian floor glowed, then shattered beneath his suspended form — unable to withstand the raw surge.
Ignara still held his face, guiding him through it.
The kiss continued — a beacon amidst chaos. Her lips steady as his universe exploded.
Only once the Crimson Core had fully bloomed — the molten sigil now permanently etched beneath his shirt and across his soul — did she pull away.
Steam rose from his skin. His breath came in gasps.
He dropped slowly back to the ground, boots landing on scorched stone.
Her eyes, brighter than twin suns, remained locked on his.
"Now you understand," she whispered, voice like wildfire silk, "what it means to burn without limits."
Damien dropped to his knees, overwhelmed... but not broken.
And definitely no longer afraid.
to pace slowly in front of him, her hand trailing golden fire as she spoke.
"Magic there isn't like Earth's fairy tales. It isn't drawn from wands or spells in Latin. It's born from essence—your soul, your emotions, your spirit."
Damien raised a brow. "You mean it's... emotion-based?"
"Partially," she replied. "There are elemental affinities—fire, water, wind, earth, lightning, ice, shadow, light, and even void. Most mages awaken with one. You, however... are different. You don't just wield fire—you are its origin."
She gestured to the air. Fiery runes bloomed into a chart: circles orbiting elements, each linked with emotional states.
"Fire draws from passion, rage, courage. Water from calm, focus, intuition. Each element is shaped not just by will, but by who you are in the moment. The stronger the emotion? The stronger the magic."
Damien whistled. "So... it's like a feedback loop. Get mad, get stronger. Get confident, burn hotter."
"Exactly," she said. "You'll find that power there isn't handed out—it's earned, bonded to soul and circumstance. Mages can enhance themselves with magic cores, elemental glyphs, ancient grimoires, or even bonded spirits. But you... you have the Crimson Core. You need none of that."
Damien took a moment to process, then asked, "And what kind of place is Veyrith exactly? Cities? Monsters? Cursed ruins?"
Ignara gave a mischievous smile. "All of the above. Veyrith is divided into continents—each ruled by empires or guilds constantly shifting in power. Magic beasts roam freely. Ancient relics lie buried in forbidden zones. Civil wars, corrupted nobles, wandering gods... it's a volatile world. But also one full of wonder. And now, you'll be part of it."
Damien's gaze steeled. "Sounds like my kind of chaos."
Ignara stepped forward. "Then it's time."
She raised her hand, divine aura swirling around it like a vortex of stardust and flame.
A massive arcane circle appeared beneath Damien's feet, glowing with infernal red and gold symbols. Its radiant light surged upward, wrapping around his body in a cocoon of fire and light.
Damien looked at her one last time. "Anything else I should know?"
She smiled. "Only this—make the world yours... and show them how bright you are, my little flame."
Light swallowed him whole.
FWOOOOOOM!
A burst of blazing magic exploded in a peaceful glade.
A magic circle flared to life in the center of a forest—burning with firelight and etching runes into the ground for a moment before fading.
And there, kneeling within it, was Damien.
He looked around, blinking slowly.
Tall trees rose around him like ancient giants, their leaves shimmering with otherworldly hues—blues, golds, and deep reds. Birds with glowing eyes chirped overhead. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting warm patterns across mossy ground. Strange flowers opened as he passed.
The air was clean. Vibrant. Magic pulsed subtly through every leaf, every stone.
"Woah," he whispered. "This place… it's alive. Everything feels like it's watching. Not in a creepy way—just... aware."
He turned slowly, taking it all in.
"So this is Veyrith. The world of magic, monsters, and chaos. I'm really here."
He cracked his knuckles. A small flame flicked to life at his fingertips.
"Alright then..."
He grinned.
"Let's begin my new adventure."
He took a step forward. The grass beneath his boots barely shifted, but the fire trailing behind him glimmered like sparks eager to leap.
Each step brought new sound—running water in the distance, a roar far off in the trees, birds taking flight.
Damien kept walking.
"Let's see what this world's got for me. First stop—find food. Second stop—find trouble. Third? Burn it all down if it pisses me off."
He grinned wildly.
Veyrith better be ready.
The forest was peaceful—eerily so. Damien walked between massive trees with bark like volcanic stone and leaves that shimmered with hints of gold and ember-red. The sunlight filtered through the canopy above in soft beams, catching the swirling ash particles that hovered like glowing pollen.
Birds chirped in strange melodies. A cool wind blew, but the warmth from Damien's core never faded.
As he moved through the underbrush, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket, his mind drifted.
"Okay, Damien… New world, new life, OP magic, and I just got dropped into a magic jungle without instructions. Gotta figure this out."
He paused.
"Wait a second..."
He snapped his fingers. "In every isekai manga ever, the MC says... 'Open Status' or something like that."
He cleared his throat and mumbled, "Open Status."
FWOOOOOSH!
A blazing crimson screen burst open before his eyes—fiery and translucent, the symbols glowing in radiant flame-text that looked both digital and arcane.
"No way... it actually worked!"
He leaned in, reading.
Name: Damien Cross
Age: 17
Race: Human (Reincarnated, Flame-Blessed)
Level: 1
Class: Overpowered Fire Mage
Titles: Flame Sovereign's Chosen, First of the Crimson Core, Walking Inferno
Health Points (HP): 980 / 980
Magic Points (MP): ∞
Strength: 92
Agility: 105
Endurance: 120
Mana: ∞
Luck: 87
Charm: 94
Normal Skills:
• Fire Resistance EX – Immune to all heat, lava, and flame damage. Even divine fire.
• Flame Affinity (MAX) – Fire magic is twice as effective, twice as fast.
• Thermal Vision – Sees heat through fog, walls, and darkness.
• Danger Sense – Eyes flash when danger is near.
• Pain Resistance (Advanced) – Doesn't flinch under pressure or injury.
• Blaze-Blooded Body – Natural resistance to ice and status effects.
• Appraisal (Basic) – View enemy stats and weaknesses within a short range.
• Basic Martial Arts (Flame Style) – Melee attacks can ignite when charged with mana.
Ability Skills:
• Infernal Pressure (Passive) – Intimidates weaker enemies within 5 meters.
• Burning Rage (Passive) – Fire spells gain +25% power when angry.
• Overheat Pulse – Emits a heat shockwave to push back attackers.
• Flame Step – Short-range dash (5 meters) using a burst of fire.
Magic Fire Skills:
• Fireball EX – 10-meter AoE fire blast. Enhanced by Flame Affinity.
• Flame Wall – 5-meter spinning wall of fire that blocks projectiles and enemies.
• Dragon's Breath – 120° fire cone — short range, high burst.
• Living Flame Serpent – Summons 1 tracking flame snake. Explodes on contact.
Unique Skills:
• Crimson Soul Core (Passive) – Infinite MP. Flame magic draws from soul fire, not mana.
• Origin of Fire (Locked Potential) – Cannot be sealed, countered, or resisted. Awakens fully later.
• Wrath Surge – Emotional spike (anger/sorrow) temporarily boosts fire spell power.
• Flame Sovereign's Will – Control or extinguish non-divine flame around you (10-meter range).
Weapons:
• Relic Weapon: Infernal Embrand (Locked — will be gifted after first major battle)
Items:
• None
Damien let out a low whistle.
"Okay, that's... INSANE. Infinite MP? Overpowered mage at level one? Fireball EX? Flame Wall? Living. Flame. Snake? Bro, I'm stacked!"
He glanced at his hand and snapped his fingers.
FWOOM!
A spiral of flame flared to life on his fingertip. He twirled it, flicked it, spun it like a coin. The flame responded to every move with perfect harmony.
"Oh, this is addicting. I feel like a pyro with choreography."
He shaped it into a dragon's head, then turned it into a phoenix, then shrunk it down into a flickering orb.
"The flame... it listens to me like it's alive. Like it wants to move. To burn. To be."
He closed his hand. The flame vanished.
Damien grinned.
He took a step forward, then another, walking deeper into the forest.
The sunlight glinted off his hair. His eyes burned faintly with golden flecks. The world of Veyrith seemed to shift slightly around him, as if aware something new—and dangerous—had entered.
The trees whispered. The wind hushed.
"Let's go," Damien said to the world itself.
"Let's start this damn adventure."
To be continued...