Chapter 11: Scars That Speak

The Chains were unlocked from Zero’s hands, his mask falls off his face to the ground “My mask...” He mumbles. He grabs his mask off the floor, and put’s back onto his face. “before we go, I’m the leader of this Organization or is still know as Ember Vow, But my name is-” “Your Voragoth...” Zero said. “Impressive much.” Voragoth said. “You will be very useful I can feel it. “He threw his head back and laughed — dark, twisted, echoing off the chamber walls like a storm on the edge of breaking. Six Ember Vow soldiers entered, silent, armored in black and red. Their eyes never left Zero. Voragoth gestured lazily toward them. “They’re here to escort you to your room” “take him now!” He yelled but was commanding. “Yes sir!” “Come with us!” Zero follows, “I’m Sorry everyone...it has to be done this way...I will...I will...take them out one by one...before they do take control of me...” he said in his mind. Dark metal doors opened, showing Zero is new room, “You may close it now...” The door closes from behind. “Now I wonder how good of a melting point that this room has!” Zero fingertips start to emit small blue flames, ‘Actually just so I don’t get into Problems...Might as well cast a spell for no damage in the room.” A glowing, ethereal circle formed underneath his feet, expanding rapidly until it covered the entire room. A shimmering barrier envelops the room, its light casting faint reflections on the walls. The flames from Zero’s fingertips flare and dissipate as they reach the edges of the circle — an invisible wall holding back destruction. A slight hum fills the air, and the temperature within the room stabilizes, preventing any excess heat from spreading. The walls remain unscathed, though the air feels thicker, charged with residual energy. For the duration of the spell, Zero is shielded from all physical damage and mental interference, his mind remaining clear and focused, despite the presence of magic and the potential for manipulation. "Safe for now…” Zero murmured, watching as the magic settled. Zero arms ignite in flames, bursting outwards. He smirks, “Hell...fire...burst!” His body ignites and erupts into flames, strong powerful winds burst the metal door open revealing a magic circle covering the entire room preventing damage. Zero’s cloak and his long hair moves around with the wind. Voragoth rushed toward the blinding light only to be met by the intense blue flames. “Ah... so this man has the same flames as him, decades ago... Zarif…” His eyes widened. “A man who once held those same bright blue flames… My god, those are beautiful flames!” Zero turned, his eyes burning a fierce blue beneath the mask. His voice was dark, cold, and commanding: “Hello, Voragoth…” The flames around him intensified, hotter, more vicious, as his arms formed blue-tinted red demon scales. “Now that you're here, I want to see how strong I am against a stronger foe!” Voragoth chuckled. “Really now? You think you can fight me from behind your little barrier? How quaint.” Zero’s eyes gleamed with molten fury as he growled, “Veil One: Abyssborne.” Sharp, demonic horns erupted from his brow, a sinuous tail coiled from his waist. His nails and teeth lengthened into lethal points, and blue flames danced in his eyes as they sharpened with deadly intent. His mask fell, shattering to pieces on the floor. “Once I turn this barrier off,” Zero continued, his voice dark and fierce, “this room might melt, considering my flames can reach pretty high temperatures.” Voragoth sneered, his voice dripping with amusement. “I’ve seen far worse… Even yours are baby flames compared to Zarif’s!” He stepped closer, mocking. “Besides, you can’t deny your destiny! Your path! Even Zarif was once in a position like you. You and Zarif are the same... but—” Before Voragoth could finish, Zero dashed forward, breaking the barrier with a blinding explosion of force. He landed a punch to Voragoth’s face, sending him skidding back, catching the demon leader off guard. “Don’t you dare compare me to him!” Zero roared, his flames surging higher, hotter. Voragoth grinned, wiping the blood from his lip. “Jeez, I haven’t taken a punch like that in years... Oh, this will be fun!” He laughed, and before Zero could react, he launched himself at Voragoth again. Flames exploded from Zero’s body, scorching the walls, the ground, the ceiling—everything around them began to melt under the searing heat. Zero went for a kick to Voragoth’s head, but with a swift motion, Voragoth grabbed his leg, spun him around, and sent him flying into the stone wall. The impact tore through the wall, hurling Zero out into the open sky. Voragoth stood, watching as Zero crashed through the stone, a wicked smile on his face. “This is getting interesting,” he muttered. Voragoth stood amidst the smoke and molten stone, the air still trembling with the force of their clash. He let out a slow exhale, the grin never leaving his face. He turned slightly, voice calm but edged with command. “Send a squad. I want eyes on him.” From the corridor, several Ember Vow soldiers rushed in, clearly shaken by the seismic shockwave. One dropped to a knee. “Lord Voragoth—he… he broke through three walls. He’s somewhere in the lower levels or outside the main keep.” Voragoth’s smile widened. “Good. Go find him.” He waved a hand dismissively, but his tone sharpened. “Don’t engage. Just observe. I want to see how fast he gets back up.” The soldiers bowed, then vanished into the smoke-filled hallways. Voragoth turned back toward the cracked opening, the wind from the shattered sky howling through it like a whisper from the void. Zero’s body crashed through layers of stone and steel, debris trailing behind him like shattered stars. The force of Voragoth’s throw sent him hurtling through the air, higher, farther, until he burst into the open sky. Wind roared past his ears, clouds parting in his wake as he tumbled through the upper atmosphere, flames still trailing from his arms like a comet. He twisted midair, breath steady, eyes locked forward. The world spun below him, a blur of black mountains and crimson sky, but Zero wasn’t falling—he was rising. The Hollow energy stirred, no longer shared, no longer guided by Zenstistu. Only him now. The flames roared from his back, a pulse of blue fire erupting outward as he steadied himself in the air. He floated alone in the sky, suspended by sheer will, the fire spiraling around him like a storm ready to break. His voice was low, almost a whisper to the wind. “I’m not done yet.” His eyes, twin wells of burning blue, narrowed as he locked onto the Ember Vow fortress below. “Let’s see how far I can push this.” The sky darkened slightly. Then he dove straight into where he came out of before the Voragoth soldiers came to him. “VORAGOTH!!!! COMING FOR YOU AGAIN!!” Zero roared, voice ripping through the sky like thunder. A spiral of blue fire erupted around him as he plummeted, the air itself igniting in his wake. The soldiers on the lower levels barely had time to react before he shot past them like a meteor, wind and flame sending them scattering like leaves in a storm. Voragoth turned just as the stone above him shattered in a blinding flash—Zero crashed through it like a living weapon, fist first, aimed directly for his chest. Voragoth crossed his arms just in time, blocking the blow, but the impact sent cracks rippling through the floor beneath them. Flames exploded outward, coating the walls in blue fire. Zero didn’t stop. His follow-up attacks came in a blur—punches, kicks, each one faster, harder, hotter. Voragoth slid back with every strike, laughing even as he deflected the blows. “That’s more like it!” he shouted, parrying a flaming elbow with his forearm. “That rage! That chaos! You’re finally waking up!” “Shut up!” Zero snarled, spinning low and sweeping Voragoth’s legs out from under him with a blast of flame from his heel. Voragoth hit the ground but rolled immediately, kicking Zero away and rising to his feet. “You’ve still got a long way to go,” Voragoth said, flexing his neck as fire licked across his own arms. “But I’ll admit it… you hit harder than Zarif ever did.” That stopped Zero mid-step. His flames faltered, just for a moment. “Don’t speak his name.” “Why not?” Voragoth grinned. “You’re walking his path, whether you like it or not.” Zero’s eyes narrowed, fire surging back stronger. “Then I’ll burn that path down too.” Zero launched forward again, fists blazing, his movements faster now—wild, unpredictable. Every strike burned hotter, more reckless, the ground beneath them glowing from the heat. Voragoth met each attack with ease, his movements fluid, casual. He blocked one punch with his palm, sidestepped a kick, then parried another strike with a flick of his wrist that sent Zero stumbling. “You’re fast,” Voragoth said, smirking, “but not fast enough.” Zero didn’t answer. He spun low, swept flames along the floor in a wide arc, forcing Voragoth to leap back. Before his feet touched the ground, Zero was already airborne, meeting him midair with a fiery uppercut. It connected. Voragoth’s head snapped back—but only slightly. He floated in place, eyes slowly rolling back to Zero with a grin. “Good hit.” Then he backhanded Zero across the room. Zero slammed into a wall, the stone fracturing behind him. He dropped to one knee, panting, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His body trembled—not from fear, but from the strain. He’d never gone this hard before. And it still wasn’t enough. “I’m not done,” he growled, forcing himself up. Voragoth walked through the fire like it wasn’t there, hands behind his back. “That’s what I want to see. Keep pushing. Show me everything.” Zero’s flames spiked again. The room was melting around them, symbols and walls dripping like wax. He raised both arms, conjuring twin flame-blades forged from his own rage. With a shout, he lunged again. Their blades clashed—if only for a moment. Voragoth caught one by the hilt with his bare hand. The flame hissed against his skin but left no mark. “You’re burning out,” he said calmly. “You're fighting like you don’t care if you live.” “I don’t,” Zero snapped. “Not if it means letting you win.” Voragoth narrowed his eyes slightly, just for a moment. Then he smiled. “Then burn for me.” He drove a fist into Zero’s gut—fast, clean, brutal. The shockwave cracked the floor. Zero gasped, the flames around him collapsing into embers as he was launched backward again, slamming into what was left of the far wall. Dust rose. Silence followed. Voragoth didn’t approach. He simply stood there, watching. Waiting. Zero, buried beneath rubble, groaned—broken, battered… but not done. His hand twitched. The flame sparked. Still alive. Still fighting. Zero burst from the rubble with a scream, flame-blades blazing again, his body covered in cracks of molten energy. He charged with reckless abandon, every step leaving molten footprints behind him. He swung wildly—desperate strikes backed by raw fury. Voragoth blocked the first, sidestepped the second, then drove his elbow into Zero’s spine. Zero dropped to one knee—but spun with a rising slash. Voragoth caught his wrist mid-swing. “Still more fire in you?” he asked, almost amused. Zero roared, blue flames surging up his arms in a final explosion of power—his Veil One form pushing beyond its limit. He wrenched free and landed a punch to Voragoth’s chest. It echoed. Voragoth took a single step back. Then calmly raised his hand—and drove his fist into Zero’s ribs with crushing force. CRACK. Zero’s body lifted from the ground and slammed into the far wall, stone exploding behind him. His back hit hard. Too hard. The flames flickered. Then died. The blue blaze vanished in a sudden rush of steam, and Zero’s body slumped against the cracked wall. The horns receded. The tail burned away. The scales crumbled. He slid to the ground, gasping, smoke rising from his arms. The chamber—scorched, melted, unrecognizable—fell into silence. Voragoth stood still. Not even breathing hard. He tilted his head, voice cold but intrigued. “That all?” Zero looked up, blood in his mouth, vision blurred—but his eyes were still defiant. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. But even broken… he refused to close them. Voragoth’s smirk faded slightly. He turned away, cloak trailing behind him through ash and ruin. “Survive this,” he said without looking back. “And maybe… you’ll be worth something.” The sound of Voragoth’s footsteps faded into the distance, swallowed by the scorched silence of the chamber. Smoke curled through the air in lazy spirals. Shattered stone, melted sigils, and the stench of burned metal clung to the walls like the aftermath of a god’s wrath. Zero lay motionless, his breathing shallow. Every nerve in his body screamed. The strength that had once poured through him like a raging inferno was now nothing but smoke and memory. His body was human again—no demon scales, no horns, no flames. Just skin, bruised and broken, trembling with exhaustion. He coughed, blood spilling down his chin. His fingers twitched against the cracked floor. He didn’t kill me, Zero thought, vision swimming. He could have… but he didn’t. He tried to move, but the pain locked him in place. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to stay conscious. Footsteps approached. Not Voragoth’s. Lighter. Hesitant. Two Ember Vow soldiers crept through the doorway, weapons drawn but lowered, eyes wide as they took in the ruined battlefield. “Is that… him?” one whispered. “He’s still breathing,” the other said. “Barely.” They stepped closer, their movements careful. “What do we do?” “Voragoth said to let him survive. Guess that means dragging him back.” “Think he’s awake?” Zero didn’t speak. Didn’t move. He just stared at them through one swollen, half-lidded eye. The first soldier shivered. “Okay. Yeah. He’s awake.” They moved to lift him. Zero didn’t resist. He couldn’t. But in his mind, one word echoed, burning brighter than any flame: Next time. The soldiers dragged Zero through the winding corridors of the Ember Vow stronghold, his body limp, his head hanging low. Blue scorch marks still lingered on his skin, but the fire was gone. Whatever power he’d unleashed—whatever form he’d taken—it had burned out. “I still don’t get it,” one of the soldiers muttered, shifting Zero’s weight. “Why let him live?” “Orders from the top,” the other replied, eyes darting around. “Voragoth wants to see what he becomes.” “After a beating like that? He should’ve died three times over.” “Yeah, but he didn’t.” They stopped outside a sleek obsidian door, marked with faint runes. One soldier tapped a glyph on the wall. The door hissed open. The room was quiet. Simple. A cot, a table, chains on the wall—decorated in false civility. They laid Zero down. The first soldier glanced at him one last time. “…He didn’t even scream.” The second just nodded, uneased. As they left, the door sealed shut behind them, the sound final. Far below the fortress, deeper than any prison, beyond fire and light, the Council Chamber stirred. A ring of thirteen thrones stood in a perfect circle—some occupied, some cloaked in shadow. At the center, Voragoth stood beneath the Eye of Flame sigil, his hands clasped behind his back. “The test is complete,” he said, his voice echoing through the obsidian chamber. “He didn’t die,” murmured a voice from the left, thin and cutting. “He wasn’t supposed to,” Voragoth replied. A cloaked figure—his mask jagged bronze—leaned forward. “He held Veil One for too long. That form’s unstable. If he survives the aftermath, he’ll be even more dangerous.” A heavier voice rumbled from the far end. “You’re nurturing him. Playing god.” Voragoth didn’t turn. “I’m preparing him.” Another subordinate chuckled—a woman in violet, fingers drumming against her throne. “You think he’ll turn willingly?” “He already has,” Voragoth said calmly. “He just hasn’t realized it yet.” The thirteenth throne—silent until now—shifted. Its occupant massive, still, hidden even from the dim glow of the chamber’s light. A voice like a landslide cracked the silence. “And if he doesn’t break?” Voragoth’s eyes narrowed beneath his mask. “Then we break him.” He turned slowly to face the full circle. “Begin Phase Two. Prepare the mental trials. Bring in the Wordbearers.” “And if he resists those?” the bronze-masked one asked. Voragoth’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “Then we show him what true control feels like. Zero lay in the dark, staring at the stone ceiling. Time passed—minutes? Hours? Days? He didn’t know. The pain never left. Neither did the silence. No guards. No voices. No light beyond the faint red pulse of Ember Vow’s runes embedded in the walls. He didn’t heal fast anymore. The Hollow was gone. Zenstistu was gone. There was only him. And the echo of Voragoth’s voice. "Survive this… and maybe you’ll be worth something." Zero clenched his jaw. The memory of the fight replayed on a loop—his attacks, the failure, the raw power that slipped through his fingers like dying flame. Was this what Zarif felt? Not weakness… but inevitability? He shut his eyes. Not to sleep—but to remember. What he’d lost. What he couldn’t protect. What he'd failed to become. And yet… beneath the weight of it all—he still breathed. The door hissed. Zero didn’t move. A robed figure entered, face hidden, a scroll in hand. “You’ve been summoned,” the voice said. Smooth. Genderless. Unreadable. Zero turned his head slightly. “Summoned for what?” The figure unrolled the scroll, reading aloud: “Phase Two begins. You are to undergo the mental trials. If you survive… you may serve.” Zero stared up at the ceiling again. “Serve, huh…” He pushed himself up slowly, every movement a struggle. But he stood. “I guess I’ll see what they want to break next.” The air in the hallway outside his chamber was cold—unnaturally so. Zero’s bare feet pressed against smooth black stone as he followed the robed figure deeper into the fortress. Torches lit the path with dull red flame, but the shadows they cast moved unnaturally, as if something unseen walked just behind them. The halls twisted. Turned. Descended. Eventually, they reached a door unlike any he’d seen before. No glyphs. No lock. Just a slab of silent black stone, pulsing faintly with a rhythm that didn’t match his own heartbeat. The figure placed a single hand on the door. It opened without sound. Inside was a circular chamber. No windows. No flame. Just a smooth floor carved with sigils in the shape of spirals—like a drain pulling everything inward. Four hooded figures waited within, already standing at the chamber’s corners. Their faces were masked, featureless. Zero stepped forward, eyes sharp despite the pain still in his body. One of the masked ones spoke, voice low and layered—as though multiple people spoke at once. “You are the fire that refuses to go out.” Another spoke from behind him. “You seek control. But you fear becoming the monster.” A third: “You fear losing your path.” The last: “So we will show you every version of the path.” All four turned to face him in perfect unison. “We are the Wordbearers. And you will now walk through yourself.” Zero scoffed lightly. “That’s it? A mind trick?” The ground beneath him glowed. The spiral lit up. Then the world shattered. He was no longer standing. He was falling. Into flame. Into shadow. Into memory. He gasped—standing in Eldora again. But not as it was now. As it was before. His younger self stood in the center of the village. His friends alive. Kaku proud. Malik still whole. Then the flames returned. Then he watched himself burn it. His own hands. His own eyes. His voice, cold and merciless. And a voice behind him whispered: “This is who you become.” Another vision. Another version. This time he wore a crown. Bodies of kings at his feet. Ember Vow kneeling before him. “This is who you could be.” Another. Alone. Powerless. Wandering a ruined world that no longer knew his name. “This is who you’ll be if you resist.” All the visions swirled. Clashed. Screamed. He fell to his knees, clutching his head, breath ragged. And the final whisper came, softer than the rest: “But if you accept us… you will never be weak again.” The spiral flared—then darkness swallowed him whole. The darkness wrapped around him like a second skin. It wasn’t empty—it was alive. Breathing. Watching. It pressed against his thoughts, whispering every failure, every regret, every time he wasn’t enough. He didn’t know how long he drifted. There was no time here. Only voices. Visions. Versions of himself. In one, he stood at Kaku’s side again—trusted, whole. But when he looked closer, Eldora was burning behind him. The people screamed his name in fear, not praise. In another, he stood atop a throne of Ember Vow banners, Voragoth kneeling below him. But his hands were stained black with blood, and the corpses of those he once loved surrounded the throne's base. He reached for the flames inside him. Nothing came. He called for Zenstistu. No answer. Only a whisper. “You are no longer fire, nor Hollow. You are something else.” “You are what we shape.” Suddenly, the visions stopped. He was kneeling in the void. Alone. A faint flame flickered before him—blue, small, fragile. He stared at it. Then reached for it. The flame recoiled. Not in fear—but as if testing him. When his fingers touched it, pain surged up his arm like lightning. He gritted his teeth, refusing to scream. The Wordbearers’ voices returned—this time, all speaking together: “Pain will purify. Truth will harden. Let go of who you were… or break trying to hold onto it.” He forced himself to grasp the flame fully. And it burned. Memories flooded him. The moment Zen left. The time Malik called him brother. The night he failed to save her—her, the one Ember Vow took and buried in silence. The promises he made. The ones he never kept. He stood slowly, the flame now resting in his palm, no longer burning, but pulsing with quiet power. His voice came low. Hollow. Changed. “…Then burn it all.” The flame surged, swallowing him whole. And in the real world—back in the fortress—his eyes snapped open. No glow. No mask. Just silence. He stood in the center of the spiral chamber. Alone. The Wordbearers were gone. Only the robed figure from before remained at the door. “You’ve passed,” they said. Zero stepped forward. Each footfall sounded heavier. Colder. “Then what happens now?” he asked. The figure bowed slightly. “Now… you serve.” Zero didn’t respond. He simply walked past, the shadows following him. Not behind. With him. Zero’s footsteps echoed through the cold, empty hallways as he left the chamber behind. The weight of the trials still clung to him like a heavy cloak. His mind, once turbulent and full of rage, now felt eerily still. Empty. He didn’t remember how long he’d spent trapped in that black chamber, haunted by visions of every twisted future Ember Vow could forge for him. The flame he had touched was the essence of all their broken dreams—an offer of power he had tried to refuse. He continued down the corridor, eyes fixed on the path ahead. The torches’ dull red light danced on the walls, but his senses had dulled—not from exhaustion, but from something colder: resignation. Shadowed figures watched him from every alcove, silent and motionless, as though this fortress itself were a living prison. At last he reached the great iron doors leading to the command room. He paused before them, fists clenched, every muscle trembling with the memory of Voragoth’s cold command. Then, without hesitation, he pushed the doors open. Inside, the chamber was dim and heavy with incense and the faint iron tang of blood. Voragoth stood at the far end, back to him, gazing out over the ruined landscape beyond the high windows. The rest of the Ember Vow council occupied their thrones in silence, but the air shifted the moment Zero entered. “You’ve completed the trials,” Voragoth said without turning. His voice was calm, measured. “You have been shaped. Now you must walk the path.” Zero’s jaw tightened. He stepped forward, every instinct screaming against this fate. “I will not be your puppet,” he said, voice low but unwavering. A flicker of amusement passed through Voragoth’s posture, but he remained still. Before he could reply, Zero surged forward, a blur of desperate motion. He reached for the sorcery within him—but the world froze. From the shadows, one of the thirteenth subordinates emerged: tall, clad in black armor etched with blood-red runes, a featureless mask of cold steel. Zero’s muscles locked. His arms dropped uselessly. The subordinate’s hand shot out with inhuman speed, closing around Zero’s skull. He was lifted off his feet, dangling in mid-air as though gravity had betrayed him. His hands clawed at the armored wrist, but it was like tearing at stone. “Release me!” he rasped, but his voice was drowned in the subordinate’s silence. With a twist of the wrist, the subordinate squeezed. Pain exploded behind Zero’s eyes, a pressure so intense he thought his head would split. He tried to scream but found no voice. Voragoth stepped forward at last, turning to watch with cold approval. “This is what happens when you refuse the path, Zero,” he said softly. “You cannot escape. Not anymore.” The grip loosened, and Zero was dropped onto the stone floor. He gasped, every breath a dagger in his chest, but he struggled to rise, defiance flickering in his eyes. Voragoth raised his hands then, muttering a low incantation. Dark energy rippled through the chamber. Tendrils of magic lashed around Zero’s temples, seeping into his skull like poison. His body jerked violently as the spell took hold; a primal scream died in his throat. “You will obey,” Voragoth intoned, voice ringing with authority. Zero’s resistance crumbled. The last spark of his will flickered—and went out. He collapsed to his knees, eyes glazing over until they reflected nothing but the cold stone at his feet. When his gaze lifted again, it was empty. Cold. The flame inside him had died. Voragoth smiled, satisfaction shadowing his features. “Good,” he said. “Now you’re truly mine.” Zero fell to one knee, bowing before all 13 subordinates and Voragoth, He raises his hand up, a cloak the same ones that the other 13 subordinates wear, “Now you wear this cloak, either have the hood on or off it really doesn’t matter, I will personally train you to weild your flames much more deadlier then they are now.” He throws the cloak Zero, “Now put it on!” Voragoth commands. “Yes sir.” Zero pulled the cloak over his shoulders. It clung to him like smoke — weightless, yet heavy with meaning. As the hem settled, a strange heat pulsed through the fabric — not burning, but awakening something deeper, older. Voragoth turned his back. “Follow me.” They walked in silence through the fortress — torchlight flickering against obsidian walls, distant screams echoing from chambers below. No words. No distractions. Just the sound of boots against stone. At the end of a long corridor, Voragoth placed a hand on a massive steel door etched with runes that glowed faintly red. The moment he touched it — the floor split. Without warning, the ground beneath Zero dropped. He fell. Darkness swallowed him. Then—BOOM. He landed hard in a vast chamber bathed in a hellish orange glow. Lava flowed in narrow rivers through jagged cracks. The air itself shimmered with heat. High above, Voragoth stood at the edge of the platform, arms folded. “This is the Furnace Core,” he called down. “Where your flames will either evolve—or die with you.” The walls shifted — revealing dozens of glowing figures made of molten flame. They stepped forward in unison, featureless, radiating death. “These are Flame Constructs,” Voragoth said. “Reflections of your power… and your fear.” He snapped his fingers. Every Construct charged at once. Zero’s cloak flared behind him as he dropped into a stance, his flames roaring to life around his arms. No time to think. He launched forward, fists igniting into blue arcs, landing a punch into the first Construct’s chest — but the moment it shattered, two more replaced it, striking from both sides. Zero spun, blocking one, but the second connected — heat piercing his ribs like a burning spear. He growled in pain, ducked low, and exploded outward in a spiral of blue flame. “Too wasteful!” Voragoth shouted from above. “You’re flaring for effect — not efficiency!” More Constructs emerged from the fire. Zero’s eyes narrowed. They’re endless… He dropped to one knee, breathing hard — flames around him unstable, cracking with emotion. Then Voragoth’s voice echoed again — colder now: “If you can’t control your flame…” A single fireball shot from his hand above. “…then don’t bother surviving.” It landed just behind Zero — and the entire platform exploded. Zero was thrown into the air — arms burning, cloak aflame. He twisted midair, trying to recover — and right before he hit the ground again… His flames reacted. Calmly. They softened. Shifted. And caught him. He landed with control. Light. Balanced. No burst. No flash. Just focus. Zero stood slowly. His flames spiraled around his arms — not wild now, but sharp. Like blades. Voragoth finally grinned. “Now we begin.” Zero didn’t respond to Voragoth’s words. He didn’t need to. The moment he shifted his stance, flames crackling in a silent spiral around his arms, Voragoth vanished. BOOM. Zero barely had time to raise his guard as Voragoth reappeared inches from his face, delivering a brutal backhand that sent him skidding across the molten floor in a trail of sparks. Zero dug his heels into the stone, cloak whipping behind him, and forced himself to stand mid-slide. Voragoth was already on him again. A flaming kick came from above — Zero raised both arms to block, and flames burst at the point of impact, launching him straight down into the ground. The chamber shook. Stone cracked beneath his body. “I said control,” Voragoth’s voice growled. “You’re reacting — not adapting.” Zero coughed, smoke in his throat. He rolled aside just in time to avoid a fire-clad fist slamming down where his head had been. Lava cracked through the floor in spiderweb patterns. He pushed upward and launched a column of blue flame toward Voragoth’s chest. Voragoth didn’t move. The flame curved around him as if deflected by unseen will — and then he countered, sending a whip of fire that coiled around Zero’s waist and yanked him across the battlefield like a ragdoll. Zero crashed into a wall, flames sputtering wildly. “Do you see now?” Voragoth stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back as he walked. “You burn hotter than anyone since Zarif. But you don’t burn smarter.” Zero’s hands twitched, and a spiral of blue flame ignited behind his back. He lunged. His fist connected this time — right into Voragoth’s jaw. Voragoth staggered half a step. Then laughed. “You're learning.” Zero spun with a flaming back-kick, but Voragoth caught his leg mid-air and slammed him through the floor. They crashed through a lower level — into a collapsed, charred chamber of obsidian mirrors. Zero coughed, rolling to his feet, blood dripping from his lip. Voragoth landed lightly, unbothered. The mirrors around them shimmered. Zero’s own reflection flickered in every one — but each reflection moved on its own. One stepped out of the glass — its flames twisted, corrupted. Voragoth gestured. “Let’s see how you fight yourself.” Ten flaming clones of Zero stepped from the mirrors, surrounding him. One attacked. Then all of them did. Zero blocked two, ducked under a third — but a fourth slammed a knee into his spine, followed by a blast of blue flame that seared his back. His scream echoed through the mirrored chamber. Another flame-clone caught him with a fire-laced hook to the ribs. Another punched him across the face. Another grabbed his head and slammed him into the wall. Each blow came with a flash of memory — his failures, his doubts, his guilt. Every version of himself striking harder than the last. “I AM NOT THEM!” Zero roared. A pulse of flame erupted from his chest, disintegrating three clones instantly. He spun in midair, cloak turning like a scythe, and launched a fire spear into the heart of another. BOOM. Only two remained. One grinned — wide, hollow-eyed, with twisted horns and eyes burning yellow. It was him in Hollow form. It lunged. They clashed in midair, flame against flame — fist against fist. Their strikes shattered the remaining mirrors. Zero screamed with effort, matching blow for blow. Then the Hollow clone whispered: “You don’t control me.” It exploded. Zero was thrown through the ceiling — back into the Furnace Core chamber above. He landed hard. Smoke rose off his body. His limbs trembled. Voragoth landed beside him, arms still behind his back. “You burn with fury. But where’s the precision?” Zero forced himself up — gasping — and focused. His flames began to coil tighter now. Sharper. He breathed slowly, fists trembling, and raised both hands. Twin blades of spiraled flame emerged from his palms — thin, curved, vibrating like saw-teeth. He dashed forward. Voragoth blocked the first strike — then ducked the second. Zero moved like a blur now, blades carving the air with precise fury. Strike. Block. Parry. Strike again. CRASH. Voragoth caught one blade in his bare hand. It hissed. His flesh sizzled. He didn’t flinch. “Finally,” he whispered, “you’re cutting with intent.” Zero roared and spun with all his weight, slashing with the second blade — Voragoth leaned back, the flame slicing through his cloak’s edge. Blood dripped from his cheek. Voragoth's smile widened. In the blink of an eye, Voragoth struck. CRACK. A palm to the gut — reinforced by an explosion of crimson fire. Zero flew backward — smashed into the far wall. He dropped to a knee, coughing, but didn’t fall. His blades flickered. But they didn’t go out. He stood again. Slower. Surer. “You done?” Voragoth asked. Zero’s voice came low. Guttural. “…Not yet.” He inhaled — then exhaled a pulse of flame from his mouth, igniting the ground beneath him. Veil One shimmered at the edge of his aura — not activated… but almost. Voragoth watched him closely. “You're close to the edge,” he said. “Push it.” Zero raised his hand, and for the first time, the fire didn’t explode. It spiraled inward — tighter and tighter until it formed a glowing sphere no larger than an apple in his palm. It pulsed with restrained power — blue and violet, almost pure white at the center. Voragoth’s eyes narrowed. “…That’s new.” Zero hurled it forward. BOOM. It detonated not in fire — but gravity. A superheated pressure bomb. The floor caved, the chamber howled, even Voragoth was pushed back a few steps. Zero stood at the heart of the crater, his eyes glowing. “I’m still not done,” he said. And this time, Voragoth didn’t smile. Voragoth’s cloak fluttered in the aftermath, scorched at the edges. Dust and ash swirled in the superheated air. He cracked his neck once, then took a step forward — the crater beneath his feet hissing where his boots touched molten stone. “You're changing,” he said, voice low, unreadable. “But is it instinct… or intent?” Zero didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His breath came in shallow bursts, but the fire in his eyes hadn't dimmed. If anything, it burned sharper now — like a blade newly drawn. “Again,” Voragoth said. And disappeared. CRACK. A blow struck Zero from behind — elbow to the spine. He grunted, stumbled forward — only to meet a rising knee to the jaw. Blood sprayed from his mouth. Zero twisted, countered with a horizontal slash — but Voragoth had already blinked behind him again, moving like flame in the wind. “You’re still chasing,” Voragoth said. “Still following the fight.” Zero’s foot slid back, grounding him. His twin flame-blades reversed, now held in reverse grip. He closed his eyes — just for a second. And breathed. This time, when Voragoth struck, Zero moved with the blow — not against it. Their flames collided in a sharp burst — a clash of wills, not just strength. Zero ducked low, slashed upward — Voragoth twisted, narrowly avoiding the blade’s edge, but a line of scorched flesh opened across his chest. The older warrior’s eyes narrowed — not in pain, but approval. Zero pressed forward, relentless now. Every strike had rhythm. Every step, weight. His footwork tightened. His fire sang. Then Voragoth stopped blocking. He raised both hands and released a dome of crimson flame — a barrier that roared like a furnace, sealing them both inside. “I’m done holding back,” he said. And in the next breath, he changed. Flames coiled around his arms and hardened — not like fire, but like metal. His skin glowed beneath, crimson and gold — furnace markings pulsing in runic patterns down his chest and arms. Horns of flame erupted from his shoulders, backlit by heat so intense the air distorted. Zero’s eyes widened. “You wanted to control your power,” Voragoth said, voice distorted by heat. “Then face mine in full.” He vanished again — not with speed, but with pressure. BOOM. Zero barely blocked in time — and the force still lifted him off his feet. He spun midair, flames curling around him, and landed with a slide — twin blades grinding sparks from the obsidian floor. Voragoth was already there. A kick — blocked. A punch — dodged. A spinning elbow — grazed Zero’s temple, sending a spatter of blood across the barrier wall. Zero’s flames flared wide in a defensive burst — but Voragoth walked through them. “You burn beautifully,” he said. “But I’ll teach you to burn perfectly.” He grabbed Zero by the throat and lifted him off the ground — then hurled him into the barrier wall. CRACK. The wall rippled but held. Zero slid down, coughing. His blades flickered. But didn’t vanish. He stood again. He always stood again. And this time — he didn’t charge. He exhaled slowly. Flames curled up his arms, but didn’t lash out. Instead, they condensed. The saw-teeth along his blades sharpened, refined into a smooth edge. No longer wild. Voragoth raised an eyebrow. “You’re learning.” Zero spoke — quiet. Focused. “You said fight with intent.” He stepped forward, steady. “Here’s mine.” And launched — not a barrage — but one clean strike, aimed not for damage… but for balance. Voragoth blocked. Barely. The impact cracked the floor beneath them. And for the first time — he blinked, surprised. “Good,” he murmured. “Now again. From the top.” The flames rose. Zero staggered to his feet again, blood seeping from his mouth, flames pulsing faintly around his arms. Voragoth didn’t speak. He only stepped forward, slowly, like a predator giving his prey one more chance to fight. Zero didn’t roar this time. He didn’t scream. He inhaled — deep, steady — and his fire twisted inward, sharpening like the edge of a drawn blade. His feet shifted, sliding into a stance not of rage but of resolve. “Again,” Voragoth said. Zero moved. Not fast. Not wild. Controlled. The first strike was clean — a straight-line thrust of flame from his palm. Voragoth dodged with a tilt of his head. The second strike followed — an arc, a feint, a pivot — and then a burst of blue flame directly at Voragoth’s feet. The older warrior stepped back, eyebrows raised. “You’re learning angles now,” he muttered. “About time.” Zero responded with a spin — low, fire trailing from his foot like a scythe. Voragoth jumped, twisting in air, landing behind Zero — but Zero didn’t hesitate. He followed through with his momentum, fire arcing over his back like a whip, forcing Voragoth to block with a flame-hardened arm. The collision sparked. For a moment, they locked eyes through fire. Then Voragoth struck — palm to chest, reinforced by a burst of crimson heat. Zero slid backward but stayed standing. “You’re adapting,” Voragoth said. “Now adapt faster.” He vanished. Zero ducked just in time — a fire-coated heel slicing the air above his head. He rolled, came up into a knee, and blasted a thin jet of flame forward — not to hit, but to obscure. Voragoth rushed through it — and walked directly into Zero’s rising knee. It struck his gut, but only slightly staggered him. “Precision. Better.” Voragoth grabbed Zero’s leg, spun, and hurled him across the molten chamber. Zero bounced once, twice, then flipped and landed hard, knees cracking against scorched stone. “Your flame sings,” Voragoth continued, approaching again. “But your timing? Still off.” Zero gritted his teeth and pushed up, flames igniting once more. “Then I’ll adjust,” he growled. He raised both hands — not as weapons, but as conduits — and let his fire flow between them, forming a single chain of spiraled heat. A flame-chain. He spun it around his body, fast, fluid, dragging arcs of glowing fire through the air. Voragoth’s smile returned. “Now we’re dancing.” They clashed again — chain against fists, fire against fire. Each strike rang out like a war drum. Voragoth weaved between slashes, deflected wraps, broke the chain once — only for Zero to reform it mid-motion. Sweat poured down Zero’s face beneath the flickering light. His muscles screamed. But his eyes never left Voragoth’s. Then — a slip. A misstep. Voragoth surged in, elbow to ribs, flame-palm to throat. Zero crashed to the ground. Again. Voragoth stood over him. “You’re too reactive. You hesitate when the tempo changes.” Zero coughed, wiping blood from his chin. “I’ll fix it.” “Will you?” Voragoth’s tone sharpened. “What happens when they don’t fight fair? When your enemy isn’t a warrior — but a god? Or a monster?” Zero didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He just forced himself to one knee. “Get up,” Voragoth said, voice rising like thunder. “Get up and show me you’re not just a boy wielding fire. Show me you're flame given form.” Zero rose. Flame licked up his shoulders. His cloak, half-burnt, billowed behind him. Slowly, he raised his hands again. The chain vanished. Replaced by silence. By stillness. Then — a shift. A new stance. Knees bent. Shoulders relaxed. Palms forward. Voragoth blinked. “What is that?” Zero’s voice came quiet. Cold. “Something I made. Just now.” His aura pulsed. Not wide — but deep. The fire no longer raged. It hummed. “Try me,” Zero said. Voragoth moved. So did Zero. Their strikes blurred. Every step, every motion — fluid, deliberate, adaptive. No longer just power. But rhythm. Reaction. Instinct. Zero ducked, slipped inside Voragoth’s guard, and drove a palm of compressed flame into his ribs. Voragoth coughed — staggered. Then burst into laughter. “Finally,” he roared. “You’re not burning like a torch anymore.” “You’re burning like a weapon.” They clashed again. Zero’s blade of flame met Voragoth’s bare hand with a crash that shook the arena’s pillars. Sparks and ash scattered through the air. The heat warped the walls, and molten cracks spread across the black stone beneath their feet. Zero growled, forcing the pressure. “You said you wanted fire!” Voragoth’s cloak snapped behind him as he surged forward. “I said I wanted control.” A punch met Zero’s ribs—shattering force. His body crumpled, sent hurtling across the arena. He landed hard, skidding across the scorched stone. But he didn’t stay down. Not this time. Zero rose. Flames coiled around him, tighter now—hotter. His irises glowed a searing blue. The fire leaked from his pores, the Veyrix heat building faster than even he could contain. He dashed again, striking with a scream. Punch. Kick. Slash. Burst. Voragoth weaved through it all like wind through wildfire. Calm. Calculating. Zero was faster. Stronger. But not smarter. Every strike burned, but it lacked rhythm. It was survival masked as aggression. “Still fighting like a boy,” Voragoth spat. “Still afraid of the storm inside.” Zero swung wildly—missed. Overextended. Voragoth countered. A single palm strike launched Zero upward. Then it came. Voragoth raised his clawed hand toward the sky. A hum began—a deep, vibrating frequency that made the air shudder. A sphere of pure red energy formed in his palm. Not fire. Not magic. Something else. Cold. Dense. Primordial. He fired. The beam tore through the sky like a crimson comet and struck Zero square in the chest. Clean. The force cracked the arena ceiling and ignited the clouds above. Zero didn’t scream. He just… fell. Smoke trailing from the hole now punched through his upper torso. His body hit the ground with a final thud. Silence. Even Voragoth paused. “Done already?” Then—The Veyrix stirred. The air changed. A cold wind swept through the Infernal Ring—not natural. It whispered like static, clawed like glass. The molten rivers pulsed blue—then purple—then dead black. The ground trembled. The crater quivered. And then—Zero screamed. Not a cry of pain—a rupture. The sound of something ancient being reborn in violence. Pure Veyrix energy erupted from his body—twisting with shadows, lined with an electric hum that shattered the air like static. The sky cracked. Reality flinched. His body jerked upright. Then rose. Floating. His head hung low. Hair lifted by the pressure rising off him. His hollow hole flared, the black wound in his chest pulsing with a cold voidlight. Then came the transformation. First, the Veyrix—blue-violet energy crawling across his arms and shoulders, clinging like molten armor. Then, the horns—erupting from his skull like jagged obsidian, curving back like a crown. His mask reformed—sharp, cracked, half-jaw with a single glowing blue slit. The other half of his face still human—for now. The hollow hole expanded, and from it poured smoke and flickering Hollow script—symbols born from suffering and hunger. Then—The scream. Not from his mouth. From the Veyrix itself. A primal, guttural howl. The sound of chaos. The sound of death reawakened. He vanished. In a blink, Zero reappeared in front of Voragoth. A clawed fist slammed forward—Voragoth caught it. But his heels skidded. “You’ve awakened it,” Voragoth muttered, grinning. “The in-between… Wraith-Nexaris.” Zero didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He wasn’t thinking. He was hunting. He moved again—behind Voragoth. Claws raked the air, carving stone. His body blurred with unnatural motion. He unleashed a burst of black-blue energy from his mouth, obliterating part of the arena. Then charged again—twisting mid-sprint, screaming—his voice now layered with a second. Zenstistu’s echo. “You’re burning like a weapon,” Voragoth said again, blocking another blow. “But this time… you don’t care who you burn.” Zero spun—backhanded. Veyrix energy sliced through a support pillar. The ground cracked. The air pulsed. Above, the 13 subordinates stood—some readying weapons. Others whispering. “He’s not stable.” “He wasn’t supposed to reach that form.” “He’s not a Nexaris. Not yet. This… this is something else.” Below, Zero howled—launched skyward, a spiral of Veyrix energy trailing him like a storm. Then he dropped—fist-first. A meteor of vengeance. The crater exploded. Stillness. Then—another tremor. Zero rose again. His form continued to shift—Veyrix burning deeper. Horns grew longer. His claws sharpened. His torso cracked with black lightning. Yellow eyes now glowed brighter—soulless, absolute. He was no longer Wraithborn. No longer in-between. He was Nexaris. And when he lifted his head, the world shivered. A walking calamity. An echo of death. A godless firestorm wrapped in Veyrix. The 13 stared, horrified. “Is this… what comes next?” one whispered. Voragoth stepped forward, cloak brushing the ruined stone. “No,” he answered, darkly proud. “This is what I’ve been waiting for.” Zero turned—slowly. His claws twitched. His mouth pulled into a jagged grin beneath the broken mask. Then he moved. And the nightmare truly began. Far above Eldora, the skies trembled—not with thunder, but with something older. Something wrong. The wind howled across the Citadel’s tower, carrying whispers no one else could hear. Zen froze mid-step, his body locked in place. His hollow mask cracked slightly as Veyrix energy pulsed through his veins. He turned sharply toward the horizon — eyes wide, voice barely a whisper: “…No.” Behind him, Gemini emerged from the shadows. The Seravain’s cloak rippled against a wind that should not have reached them. His arms crossed, but his face — always unreadable — now twitched with unease. “That… wasn’t natural,” Gemini said, his voice low, guttural. “It wasn’t just Veyrix,” Zen murmured. “That was a rupture.” Gemini’s head tilted slightly. “That power. It wasn’t refined. It was unstable. Wild. But too complete for a Wraithborn.” Zen’s jaw clenched. His hands trembled. “It was Nexaris.” Gemini’s breath hitched. The sky darkened further, as if reacting. “That’s impossible. A Nexaris must consume. Hollow or human — a thousand souls. Minimum. It takes centuries to evolve.” Zen didn’t answer right away. He simply stared out across the horizon where reality had cracked. “I gave him a fragment,” Zen finally said, his voice now shaking. “A piece of my Veyrix… just to keep him tethered. A seed. Nothing more.” He turned to Gemini, and for the first time in centuries, fear shined in his Seravain eyes. “But that wasn’t me.” Gemini’s voice dropped to a whisper, unnatural and laced with dread. “Then something else... woke up inside him.” The silence between them grew heavy, suffocating. “That wasn’t evolution,” Gemini said. “That was a birth cry.” Zen staggered back a step, eyes wide with horror. “If he became a Nexaris without the catalyst… then what the hell is he?” Below them, the mountain shook faintly. Neither of them breathed.