The Emberfire Wastelands sprawled before Abraham like a charred wound upon the earth—a vast expanse of cracked stone, rivers of molten lava snaking through inhospitable terrain, and skies forever painted with the dull glow of perpetual twilight. The oppressive heat clawed relentlessly, wrapping each breath in a suffocating embrace that tested the limits of endurance. Every step sent shards of burnt rock tumbling down jagged slopes, the air thick with the tang of sulfur and the echoes of forgotten conflagrations.Abraham's movements were deliberate as he and Michael crossed into the heart of the wasteland. The Origin Core Fragment nestled against his chest pulsed steadily, its ethereal energy bolstering him against the draining environment. Michael's crimson qi flared with each step, a fierce shield against the toxic miasma that curled like venom among the fissures.Their prying eyes sought signs of the Blood Cult's remnants—dark shapes moving like smoke through the haze, cultists who had woven themselves into the twisted labyrinth of fire and rock. Somewhere within this merciless landscape lay the second relic key, a fragment of the lost empire waiting to be claimed.The wasteland did not give up its secrets lightly. Hidden among the volcanic peaks and scorching valleys were traps forged from ancient blood rites—blazing pits shrouded in illusions, molten geysers triggered by the faintest misstep, and shadowy figures that struck with the heat of a wildfire and the precision of a blade.Abraham's Plum Blossom forms flowed like water against flame, petals of qi dancing in perfect harmony to shield him from torrents of burning debris and arcane firestorms. Each attack was met with elegant deflections, each movement a step in the dance of mastery between destruction and control.Michael carved through enemy ranks with the violent grace of a tempest, fists erupting in bursts of crimson power that shattered rock and bone alike. Their synergy was a force unresolved—calm brilliance meeting explosive fury.As they pressed deeper, Abraham felt the weight of every trial behind him—the betrayal, the battle scars, the relentless chase. Yet the ember-light ahead was a beacon calling to something beyond power and vengeance.Here in the Fires of the Fallen, the soul of Murim lay not in conquest but in the promise of resurrection. The path was aflame, but so was his resolve. The empire's shattered legacy could yet rise from these ashes, forged anew by blades, blood, and unyielding will.
