Exit Ash & Echo
The sky above Gravemarket simmered with rust and low cloud, a haze of old heat clinging to the rooftops like breath that refused to fade. Sky adjusted the strap of his coat, the fresh weight of his scavenged knife bumping lightly against his hip as he walked beside Nyx. Her stride was quiet but undeniable, like the world folded itself to give her space.
The four Shadowsworn followed without a word, their footfalls as uniform as machine pulses. Even after the deal was done, they stayed alert—eyes tracking windows, broken rails, rooftops.
Sky tried to pretend it didn't bother him. Tried to ignore the tension in his back, the way his Core pulsed low and slow like it didn't trust what came next.
"You're quieter than usual," Nyx said without looking at him. Her voice was soft velvet, but there was a grin tucked behind it. "Still embarrassed about the soup growl?"
Sky gave a dry cough that might have been a laugh. "It was one noise. I was hungry."
"You sounded like a starved wolf chewing through a tin wall," she teased. "Adorable, really."
He rolled his eyes, but a smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth. "You're never letting that go, are you?"
"Never," she said sweetly.
They crossed an old pipeline bridge, its metal groaning beneath them. Below, shattered rebar jutted from collapsed scaffolds like ribs of some long-dead beast. The air felt heavier here. Warmer. Like the ruins were holding their breath.
Sky paused mid-step. Something brushed the edge of his senses—not touch, not sound. Weight. A shift in the atmosphere that set his Core stirring.
Nyx slowed beside him. Her eyes narrowed. "Did you feel that?"
He nodded once, jaw tightening. The Shadowsworn stopped in sync.
"I don't like it," she murmured, scanning the broken skyline ahead.
Neither did Sky.
The warmth wasn't fading.
It was building.
Heat Beneath the Skin
Sky didn't say anything as they crossed the fractured threshold into what used to be a watchtower clearing—just rusted steel beams, a collapsed shelter, and a long-abandoned Core charging post half-melted from some past disaster. But his Core was no longer steady.
It throbbed.
Not with pain—with memory.
Every few steps, it pulsed like something inside was waking up, reacting to a presence he hadn't fully noticed yet. The sensation spread from his sternum outward, a gravitational buzz that coiled tight beneath his ribs.
Nyx slowed beside him again, this time without a word. Her eyes flicked to the horizon. A tremor moved through the old rail beneath their feet. Subtle. But not natural.
Behind them, one of the Shadowsworn reached instinctively for his weapon—and hissed as the grip singed his glove.
"Ma'am," he muttered, voice tight. "Steel's heating. Rapidly."
Nyx said nothing. Just raised a hand, palm out. All four Shadowsworn stopped cold, weapons lowered in obedience but nerves sharp. Her posture shifted slightly—less relaxed now. Poised.
Sky exhaled through his nose. His hand hovered near the hilt of his curved blade. His teleport reflex tingled against his spine, twitchy and impatient.
The scent of the air had changed.
It wasn't smoke. It wasn't rot. It was that awful, near-molten smell—like metal about to break, like breath that shouldn't be visible.
Something was coming.
Sky's Core beat once...hard. A flash of heat surged through his chest, and for the briefest second, the essence of Vulkran's Core—the one he had consumed—reacted.
Not as a flame. Not as a technique.
But like something in the abyss of his gravity was rejecting recognition. As if the molten presence ahead resonated with what had once been Vulkran… and his Core hated the similarity.
"Move," Sky said sharply.
But they were already too late.
A sound like a furnace collapsing slammed into the clearing. The ground fractured. A wave of pressure hit—not from above, but from below.
Then—impact.
Something fell from the sky like a meteor, smashing into the path just ahead of them. Stone shattered. Steel liquefied.
The air ignited.
And the world went silent.
The Hunter's Claim
The ground hissed.
What was once metal and stone now sagged in a molten spiral, warped inward like a wound torn through the street. Steam coiled from the crater's center in long, twisting ribbons, each one crackling with heat so intense it made the air vibrate.
Sky took a step back, instincts screaming. His Core pulled tight inside his chest, gravity distorting ever so slightly around him—not from his will, but as if bracing on its own.
Then something moved.
A slow rise— deliberate. Controlled. A figure stood within the crater, shoulders square, back straight, steam curling off his skin like a second aura.
He wasn't armored. Didn't need to be.
His coat, charred and open, hung in strips that danced with the shimmer of heat. Beneath, his body was scorched in long, winding marks—not wounds, but channels. Thin glowing veins of molten fire threaded his arms, pulsing with each breath like exposed arteries of liquid flame.
His eyes were a deep, copper-orange—calm, steady, and locked onto one person only.
Sky.
"You're him," the man said softly, voice low and fluid. Smooth as a coal-fed forge, just before it bellows. "The one who took Vulkran's Core."
No one responded. Even Nyx stayed still, gaze sharp but unreadable.
"I tracked that bastard for years," the man continued, stepping forward onto melted pavement. It didn't hiss beneath him—it welcomed him. "Stalked him through Pyreblight, watched him level towns, waited for him to fall."
His gaze sharpened, voice sharpening just beneath the calm.
"And then you happened."
Sky's jaw tightened. "I didn't take it. I killed him."
Cindral smiled, but there was no humor. "You don't kill a flame like Vulkran. You steal it. You feed on it."
He pointed a finger—not at Nyx, not at the Shadowsworn.
Just at Sky.
"You've got something I want. And this time… I'm not late."
Sky's Strike
Sky didn't wait for permission.
The moment Cindral took that second step out of the crater, Sky vanished—teleporting mid-flash, the shadows under his boots pulling inward with a burst of gravity. He reappeared just behind the molten man, curved blade already swinging in a clean arc toward the spine.
A whisper of air. A blur of motion.
The blade hit nothing.
Cindral tilted, lazy and effortless, letting the knife pass through smoke and heat. His body shimmered—not phasing, not vanishing, just too hot to hold still. The air around him bent with radiance, and Sky's blade warped slightly in its path.
Cindral moved faster than heat should allow. He rotated on one foot, bringing his elbow back with a sickening whoosh of steam. Sky caught it mid-turn with a Dark Matter shield—but the impact rattled his bones like a bell struck too hard.
Sky stumbled, then twisted, dropping low and sweeping a leg. Gravity pulsed. The ground cracked.
Cindral didn't fall. He jumped—straight up. A splash of molten residue fell from his boots like wet embers. He landed several meters away, eyes alight, amused.
"Not bad," he said. "You've got teeth."
Sky didn't answer. His Core flared behind his ribs—dark, compressed, pulsing. He formed a midair gravitational spike, launched it, then blinked to the side—flanking with speed and precision.
The spike struck dead center.
Cindral didn't dodge.
The impact exploded in a flash of compressed pressure—but as the smoke cleared, Sky saw it. The spear had sunk halfway into his chest... and melted. The metal ran down his skin like mercury evaporating.
Cindral stepped forward, dragging a line of liquefied fire behind him with every stride.
"Still using someone else's power," he murmured. "That Core doesn't belong to you. It still screams."
Sky clenched his jaw, breathing hard, sweat dripping despite the Void-threaded coat.
"I don't care what it screams," he said. "It's mine now."
Cindral stopped walking.
And smiled.
"Then you'll burn with it."
Nyx Unleashed
The air warped—not from heat, but from pressure.
Sky didn't have to look to know she'd moved. One moment, Nyx stood behind him; the next, she was at his side, her coat trailing behind her like a strip of torn night, face unreadable, eyes glowing with the cold, quiet violence of deep void.
She didn't speak.
Didn't ask.
Didn't smirk like usual.
She just stepped between him and Cindral—without hesitation—as if the molten man ahead of them were nothing more than a smudge to erase.
Cindral stopped mid-step.
His molten footprints hissed against the cracked stone. He tilted his head slightly, observing her like a predator who'd just scented something rare in the wind.
"You," he said quietly. "You're not like him."
Nyx didn't blink. Her voice dropped lower than a whisper—barely audible over the hum of her growing null field.
"No," she said. "I'm worse."
The world dimmed.
Sky's Core compressed in his chest as her suppression aura bloomed outward—anti-Core energy blooming like an inverted flame. The molten heat that had been building around Cindral buckled inward, warped, stuttered like it was suddenly unsure it had permission to burn.
The Shadowsworn behind them stepped back instinctively. One even kneeled, bracing against the gravitational fold of her field.
Cindral's body flickered—not vanishing, but struggling to maintain flame-form. His molten veins pulsed violently, destabilized by the proximity of her power.
And still… he smiled.
"Elarion blood," he murmured. "That explains the scent. Your mother carved a crater through the Fire Choir. Left their commanders in glass."
He took one more step forward. Heat surged again—but this time, Nyx stepped to meet it.
"No closer," she said, and her words dropped like a blade into the earth. "You burned him. I felt it. That was your mistake."
Sky blinked. Her tone wasn't protective.
It was possessive.
Cindral didn't flinch. But his molten aura deepened, trailing steam through the air.
"You going to stop me?" he asked.
Nyx raised her hand, and black threads of null-space curled from her fingers.
"I'm going to unmake you."
Firestorm Breaks Loose
Cindral's smile faded.
Not in defeat. In focus.
He took a long breath—and the air caught fire around him. Not a blaze. Not a burst. A shift. Like heat itself had decided it no longer needed permission to exist.
The ground beneath him liquefied in ripples, glowing red-orange like a dying furnace stirred awake. Stone melted. Steel sagged. Even the fractured air shimmered with distortions, bending reality like glass under a torch.
Nyx braced herself. Her null field flared wider, humming with intensity—black threads of anti-Core energy pulling inward, trying to collapse the surge before it spread.
Cindral exhaled once.
And the world buckled.
A vein of molten fire erupted from his feet, racing outward in spirals—cutting through debris, tearing molten paths across the broken plaza. It wasn't just fire. It was pressure wrapped in heat. Liquid energy that flowed like blood and struck like hammers.
One Shadowsworn tried to react—rushed in, null-blade drawn. The moment the blade entered Cindral's radius, it curled and melted, dripping off the hilt like wax under sunlight.
Cindral didn't even look at him. His attention was already back on Sky.
"Still standing?" he said.
Sky blinked in just behind him—gravity crackling at his heels, arm cocked for a clean strike. His curved blade thrummed in his grip.
He swung—
—but Cindral's backhand came first.
A flare of molten fire coiled off his forearm like liquid whipcord. It slammed into Sky's side mid-motion, detonating on contact. Not with an explosion—worse. It stuck, like burning oil, and threw him across the square.
Sky hit a wall hard—ribs crunching. He slumped, coughing, gasping as heat shimmered along his coat's surface. His Core reeled, spiraling inward like it was trying to protect itself from the burn.
Nyx didn't move at first.
But the way her fingers curled, slow and deliberate—like wrapping around a knife handle—made the Shadowsworn take two full steps back.
Her voice came low.
"You touched him again."
Cindral's grin widened. "Good. Let's see how much mother's shadow taught you."
Nyx didn't answer.
She simply stepped forward—and the heat began to recede.
Sky Down, But Not Out
The world came back in pieces.
Sound first—muffled, like he was underwater. Distant clangs of metal. The low rumble of energy pulses. Then scent—burned air, scorched rubber, his own blood. Bitter, metallic, hot.
Sky's vision swam, edges curled with distortion. A web of cracks veined the shattered wall beside him. His coat still smoked faintly. Every breath rattled against a bruise he hadn't had five minutes ago.
His fingers twitched.
Good. Still attached.
He tried to move—his Core pulsed in warning, gravity folding faintly around his chest like a hand telling him: Wait. But he didn't wait.
Through blurred lashes, he saw them—Nyx and Cindral—circling each other in a ruin of ash and half-melted concrete. The temperature had shifted. Not cooler. Tighter.
Like the air itself didn't know who it belonged to anymore.
Nyx's coat trailed behind her like a banner of shadow, her hair sweeping in slow motion around her shoulders. Her steps didn't echo—they erased sound where she walked. A void pressed outward from her, null-space crawling across the field in visible pulses.
Cindral looked different too. Less amused. More grounded. The molten lines across his body were glowing brighter now, feeding off the heat he'd spilled. Steam hissed around his shoulders like breath through clenched teeth.
Sky's head fell back against the stone. He cursed under his breath.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Not again.
He hated the feeling—watching. Being sidelined. He'd survived beasts, storms, starvation. He'd devoured Vulkran's Core. He was stronger than he'd ever been.
So why did it feel like the world was burning without him?
He clenched his fists, breath steadying.
His Core responded—slowly, but with weight. The pressure in his chest pulled inward, shadows coiling faintly at the edges of his body. The gravitational hum beneath his ribs stirred like a waiting blade.
Not yet.
But soon.
Before the Ruin Falls
The ground cracked beneath Nyx's feet—but she didn't step back.
If anything, she leaned in.
Her aura was expanding, threads of null-space snaking through the air like black veins drawn across reality. The molten fire around Cindral warped as it tried to cling to form—but couldn't. It dripped and peeled off like it had lost its right to burn.
Cindral took one step forward. The stone beneath him boiled.
"You're like her," he said again, slower this time. "But colder."
Nyx tilted her head—not in curiosity, but in warning.
"She didn't kill me," he added. "Maybe you'll try."
She didn't respond. The silence was louder than words.
Then—they moved.
The clash happened so fast the light bent around it.
Cindral surged forward, a vortex of liquefied fire trailing his fists like chains unspooled from a furnace. Nyx blurred sideways—Void Step activating without a sound. She reappeared behind him, hand glowing with the distortion of her suppression field mid-compression.
He twisted, molten lash striking outward. She caught it mid-air—barehanded—and her null-space fingers hissed against the fire like oil in icewater. The explosion threw smoke across the plaza.
Sky shielded his eyes, body still slumped, but upright now. His Core stirred—readying itself.
He felt it now. Timing. A window. A weight shift in the air that didn't belong to either of them.
Their battle was tearing open a fault line in the field. Not just physical—resonant.
He braced his hand on a crumbling pipe. His legs shook as he stood.
From the cloud of smoke, Nyx and Cindral separated again. Breathing hard. Burn marks streaked across her sleeve. His molten form flickered with instability.
They were both about to break something.
Sky's Core beat once.
Harder than before.
He stepped forward.
But he wasn't seen.
Not yet.
"Soon," he muttered to himself, voice low, gravity curling at the edges of his boots.
The wind shifted.
Cindral raised his hand.
Nyx's aura pulsed.
Sky's body bent forward, ready to blink—
And then—
Cut to black.