The embers of countless ancient fires still glowed faintly beneath the ashen soil of the Emberfire Wastelands—a realm scorched by rage and time, where rivers of molten rock snaked through cracked earth. Abraham and Michael stepped into this unforgiving domain, the heat tangible even beneath their cloaks, the sulfurous air thick with the promise of trials born of flame and death.Their bodies bore the marks of pursuit—scars, exhaustion, and qi burn—but the embered heart of resolve burned fiercely despite it all. The Blood Cult's trail, veiled in smoke and shadow, beckoned them deeper, each twisted symbol scorched into blackened stone a cruel psalm sung in firelight. They moved with practiced caution; ember storms unpredictably erupted, and magma beasts prowled in silent fury beneath thin crust.Abraham drew deep on his mastery of the Plum Blossom Sword art, the delicate twenty-four forms flowing in harmony with the unpredictability of flame—petals of qi blossoming like fireflies against the bleak heat. The final oracle's whispers haunted his thoughts, urging vigilance. Michael was a crimson gale in contrast, his violent power clashing with the volatile wilderness.The pair's arrival awakened hostile cult remnants entrenched in the wasteland, their battle cries harsh against molten winds. Flames crackled as qi blades met, shadows warped by heat haze, and with each strike, the Burning Eclipse Ritual of the cult tarnished the land further. Abraham's refined forms danced between bursts of scorching fire and molten strikes, qi weaving protective veils as Michael smashed through cult warriors with relentless, fiery fury.Victory was hard-won beneath a blood-red sky, yet the wasteland's fury was matched only by the cult's desperate will to survive. Abraham realized the journey's stakes had escalated—beyond shadows and betrayal to the very crucible of Murim's inferno.The twin demons' legend blazed brighter amid the embered ashes, shadows stalking a fragmented empire bound by blood and flame.
