Trial II: The Realm of Flame
The portal blazed like a sunburst tearing through the void.
When Matt stepped through, the world screamed.
Heat surged in every direction, blistering and immediate. He staggered into a burning canyon where the cliffs were jagged obsidian, veins of molten regret pulsing between the cracks like the lifeblood of a dying world. Rivers of flame ran below. Ash fell from above like snow—soft, endless, choking.
The sky bled crimson. And it wept fire.
> Trial Two: The Realm of Flame.
A voice greeted him. Not in words—but laughter.
Dark. Familiar. Cruel.
Thermuz.
Not the true god of flame, but an echo—a remnant forged from divine will and wrath. Still, the hatred behind it was no less real.
> "Back again, little Nitine?" the echo taunted. "I remember your world. Burned so beautifully."
Matt stepped forward, each footfall searing the ground. His boots smoked. His coat smoldered. But he didn't flinch.
His fingers clenched around the Shadowsidian Blade. The air around him distorted from the heat.
> "You remember the screams you caused?" he asked, voice low.
> "I remember the silence that followed."
From the center of the lava river, Thermuz rose.
A towering construct of living flame and armor—horns like twisted magma, wings of molten bone. He held the Blazing Scythe of Perdition, a jagged weapon so hot it made the air cry. Embers trailed behind the blade, each one screaming as it fell.
His body flickered between fire and memory—like the trial wasn't just built from flame, but Matt's own past turned into fuel.
---
> Combat Initiated: Matt vs. Flame Echo of Thermuz
The scythe cut the air with a roar. Thermuz charged.
Matt barely sidestepped as a wall of sentient fire erupted from the canyon floor. The flames hissed his name, clawing at him like living serpents.
He responded with Voidflame.
A pulse of violet-black energy burst from his palm, slamming into the firestorm. They clashed—opposing forces battling not just for dominance, but for truth.
For every swing Thermuz made, Matt saw Nyuga's cities crumble in his mind.
For every ember that touched him, he heard his mother's final spell.
> "This isn't just fire," the echo mocked. "It's your guilt. Made real."
> "No," Matt said, teeth grit, aura flaring. The Shadowsidian Blade pulsed with both flame and void. "This is your legacy. And I'm here to erase it."
He launched forward—blade in one hand, Voidflame swirling in the other.
Thermuz met him with brutal swings, but Matt was faster. Sharper. Angrier.
The duel became a blur of scythe vs. sword, ember vs. void, regret vs. rage.
Amiya's voice whispered in his memory:
> "Protect what's left... even if it's only ash."
That was all he needed.
He roared and drove the Voidflame into the scythe—shattering it in two.
Thermuz screamed—not in pain, but in recognition.
His form began to melt, collapsing into slag and sorrow. But before he vanished, he grinned—wide, knowing.
> "You are fire, too, Matt," the echo rasped. "And fire always betrays."
Then he was gone.
---
The world cracked.
The burning canyon trembled. Pillars collapsed. Lava surged like veins torn open. But Matt stood still, breathing hard, skin blistered and healing, Voidflame swirling around him like a cloak.
A new sigil burned itself onto his forearm—a crimson brand pulsing like a heartbeat.
> Seal of Tempered Wrath: Acquired
Your flame no longer consumes. It remembers.
Outside the realm, the second orb ignited—exploding in a burst of smoke and firelight.
> 2/5 Trials: Complete
---
The ashstorm parted.
A new portal tore itself open amid the ruin. This one shimmered in hues of blue and silver, its edges rippling like water seen through a broken clock. Currents twisted within—fractured reflections of people and events Matt couldn't quite place.
> Next Trial: The Realm of Time
Matt rolled his shoulders. The scorched fabric of his coat flaked away, revealing skin etched with glowing lines—marks of the trials, marks of pain endured.
The flames still licked at his back, but they no longer burned him.
He turned toward the portal, then glanced down at the sigil on his arm.
> "Guess we see what kind of man I used to be."
And without looking back, he walked into the past.