The mountain ridge was silent, save for the dry whisper of wind snaking through blackened trees. The once-verdant cliffs now wore a shroud of ash, and the veins of magma that cut through the stone pulsed like the heartbeat of something ancient and angry.
In the center of that hellish glow knelt Joren Veylan, bare-chested and trembling. His body, once sculpted with the disciplined symmetry of a prodigy, was now a ruin of charred skin and fissured veins that glowed faintly from within. His eyes were pools of molten red — not quite human anymore.
He had thought himself prepared for the fire.He had been wrong.
The Flame Scripture of the Crimson Sovereign was not meant for mortals. It wasn't even meant for disciples. It was a god's language — the kind that demanded offerings. And Joren, in his hunger to surpass Kaelen and silence every whisper that mocked his fall, had given it everything it asked for.
Now, the fire whispered back.
"More."
Joren's lips cracked as he exhaled smoke, his vision blurring with heat. "More…" he murmured hoarsely, voice half-mad, half-exultant. "I'll give you everything."
He plunged his hand into the molten rock before him — not hesitating, not fearing. The flesh peeled instantly, but instead of burning away, the fire wove into him. His fingers reformed with trails of glowing crimson veins, as though the magma itself had chosen to inhabit him.
The scream that tore from his throat was not of pain — it was rebirth.
When it ended, the silence that followed was thick and reverent. The ground no longer dared to shake beneath him. Flames that once lashed wildly now bowed, dimming around his presence.
He opened his eyes again — and the mountain flared in response.
Three weeks passed.
The sect's outposts along the southern ridges began reporting strange phenomena: villages vanishing overnight, the earth splitting open to release waves of unnatural heat, and fire-tinged storms that scorched the sky itself.
The elders sent search teams. None returned.
By the time word reached the main mountain, the reports had grown worse — and quieter. It was as if someone, or something, was ensuring that the truth died before it spread.
Yet whispers always found their way through the cracks.
They said a man had been seen walking through the inferno, untouched by the flames.They said his eyes glowed like molten suns.They said he laughed as the sky burned.
Deep within that charred valley, Joren stood before what used to be a Spirit Beast den — now a hollowed crater of fire. He looked down upon the remains of the creatures he had burned alive, their souls absorbed, their power added to the furnace within his core.
He was powerful now. Terribly so.
But beneath the burning confidence, a cold unease lingered — the sense that something else watched him through the flame.
When he closed his eyes, he could feel it — a presence coiled deep inside his spiritual sea, breathing with him, whispering not in words but in desire.
"More power. More souls. Feed me."
He didn't fight it.He couldn't.
Because every time he obeyed, the fire obeyed him more completely. The sky bent lower. The flames answered faster. The boundaries of mortal cultivation—once firm walls—crumbled to ash before his touch.
He smiled faintly, his face cracked and glowing. "So this is what divinity feels like."
But when he raised his hand to the air, he noticed the faint shimmer of something beneath the charred skin — black runes, writhing, shifting like serpents of ink.
They hadn't been there before.
And when he tried to command the flame again, it hesitated.
Just for a moment.
Just long enough for him to realize he wasn't the one commanding it anymore.
The laughter that filled his mind wasn't his own.
Far away, on the sect's main mountain, Elder Thalen stood at the edge of the Grand Hall, listening as the last report was delivered. The messenger's face was pale, his hands trembling.
"Elder… we found traces of the missing teams," the man said, voice hollow. "They were… fused into the rock. Burned alive, but not destroyed. Their spirit marks were still visible in the stone."
Thalen's face hardened. Around him, the other elders murmured uneasily. "And the cause?"
The messenger swallowed. "A single cultivator's flame essence. Consistent with… Joren Veylan."
A heavy silence fell.
The name hung in the air like a curse.
Thalen closed his eyes. "So… the Crimson Scripture was not sealed as tightly as we believed."
No one spoke after that.
Outside, thunder rolled — but it was not from clouds. The horizon flickered, painted red by an inferno miles away.
And far within that inferno, a lone figure stood, smiling through the smoke as his shadow flickered like living flame.
Joren's voice was calm when he spoke, almost gentle."Kaelen… if you're still crawling in the dark, then hurry."
The fire surged behind him, roaring to the heavens.
"I'll burn the world bright enough for you to find me."