The chamber shook violently as the Portal Gate groaned, its stone frame threatening to buckle under its immense pressure. It began to pull everything into its expanding mass of swirling dark energy. The ceiling tore away with a deafening roar, and chunks of stone and steel were drawn into its depths. The vats lining the walls exploded one by one, their eerie green contents floating toward the portal, consumed by its insatiable hunger. Outside, the gray ground fractured, rising into the air before being swallowed.
Zion stood at the center of the storm. Dark tendrils of shadow snaked from his body, anchoring both himself and the remaining machinery to the floor. His control wavered as he battled against the pull of the portal, and the tendrils trembled under the strain.
Kamari curled himself over Malik’s limp body. The howling wind tore at their clothes and threatened to rip them apart as they were slowly dragged toward the churning depths of the portal. Even so, Kamari tightened his grip, refusing to let go. Flames erupted from his feet as he fought against the pull, but with Malik in tow, it was a losing struggle. Every muscle in his body strained as they were drawn closer to the center of the portal.
Behind them, Byron struggled against the relentless pull of the vortex, but his strength was fading. The force was too powerful, and inch by inch, he was being dragged toward it. Meanwhile, Nia hovered nearby, her arms outstretched as she manipulated the air around her, creating a barrier of wind to push back against the pull. Her eyes were wide with concentration, but the power of the portal was overwhelming, even for her.
Kamari's flames sputtered as his body lost strength. Malik's weight was too much, and it dragged them past Byron.
“Kamari!” Byron shouted. He shot his arm out, narrowly missing Kamari.
Nia did the same, but it was no use.
Kamari screamed, but the roar of the portal swallowed his voice. His vision blurred, and his entire body trembled from the effort of keeping his flames burning. His mind raced—he couldn’t lose Malik, not like this—but the pull of the vortex was unyielding. It felt as if there were no escape.
Then, Byron made his move. In a moment of desperation, he hurled a massive fireball directly at the portal gate. The impact was immediate—an explosion of light and raw energy erupted from the stone frame, and the shockwave rippled through the chamber like thunder. The portal recoiled violently as the explosion's force hurled Kamari, Malik, Byron, and Nia away from the chamber.
Kamari twisted through the air, holding Malik tightly. Upon landing, the impact knocked the breath from Kamari's lungs, and he skidded across the gray earth as debris fell around them. Byron crashed down a few meters away from him, and Nia landed moments later.
Kamari cradled Malik’s limp body in his arms. He watched in horror as blood gushed from the wound in Malik's torso, and his voice trembled with desperation as he cried out, “Help!”
Nia was at Kamari's side in an instant, dropping to her knees with her gaze locked on Malik’s wound. She pressed her ear to his chest, concentrating intently. For a moment, the noise of the collapsing chamber fell away, replaced by the heavy silence of Malik’s chest. Nia held her breath, straining to catch the faintest sign of life. Each second stretched painfully, her heartbeat thundering in her ears, drowning out everything else.
Suddenly, there it was—a faint, delicate heartbeat, so weak that she almost missed it.
Her voice trembled with desperate relief. “He has a pulse,” she whispered, barely able to believe it. Her eyes gleamed as she raised her head, looking at Kamari and Byron. “He’s alive. Just barely.”
Kamari exhaled a broken, relieved sigh and nodded slightly. “Please... please save him.”
Nia's hands began to glow with a soft, pulsing light as she pressed her palms firmly against Malik’s wound. She closed her eyes, focusing on channeling her Enre and feeling it flow through her hands in steady, controlled waves. Her heartbeat synced with the pulse of energy, each wave pushing a piece of her life force into him. You’re not leaving us—she thought fiercely, her jaw clenched as she focused harder, refusing to let go.
She felt Malik’s faint pulse beneath her fingers, so fragile it was barely there. She poured more Enre into him, willing his life to hold on, even as the strain began to sap her strength. The faint spark of his pulse grew stronger—just slightly—but it was enough to keep her going. Each second felt like an eternity, but she didn’t dare stop. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to push through the exhaustion. Her face tightened as sweat trickled down her brow, and her breaths grew shallow while she continued to pour every last bit of Enre she could muster into him. She refused to let death take him, even as the edges of her vision dimmed.
Byron knelt beside them, gently brushing back Malik's hair with his large, trembling fingers as he cradled Malik's head. His eyes, typically hardened by battle, softened with an almost paternal warmth. “Stay with us, Malik,” he murmured.
Kamari's gaze shifted from Byron to Nia, his heart aching. "Will he make it?"
Nia nodded, though her face was etched with exhaustion. “I can keep him alive... but I need to keep my Enre flowing into him, or his heart will stop.”
Byron looked at Nia, his hand resting on Malik's head for a moment longer before he turned to Kamari. "She will take care of him," he said, his gaze shifting to the chaotic portal gate. "We need to put an end to this."
Kamari hesitated.
“Go,” Nia whispered to Kamari, her eyes fixed on Malik as her hands continued to glow.
Kamari’s gaze lingered on Malik, a heavy ache settling in his chest at the thought of losing him. Malik was like the brother he’d never had, and the idea of him slipping away here and now was unbearable. But as he watched Nia, her face tight with concentration as she poured her Enre into Malik, he decided to trust her. It was all he could do.
With a hard swallow, he nodded. Rising to his feet beside Byron, Kamari cast one last glance at Malik. Then, he and Byron turned to face the dark portal—there was still work to be done.
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The chamber lay in ruins. The Nether Flame burned hotter and fiercer than ever before. Its sickly black and purple light cast long, twisted shadows across the shattered walls as it absorbed energy from the portal gate, roaring like a living beast as if anticipating something unseen.
Zion stood over the scorched remains of Zaire—a single charred finger lying in the ash. He knelt beside it, his hand hovering above. “I’m sorry, son,” he whispered. “You fought well until the very end. I will finish this now.”
His resolve hardened as he rose, eyes fixed on the Nether Flame—step by step, he approached, the flickering shadows deepening around him. The portal swirled in the background, stable now, its dark energy pulsing with a steady, ominous hum. As Zion drew closer, insidious whispers began to slither into his ears, curling around his mind like tendrils of smoke, each one more venomous than the last.
Take it... claim my power... let it consume you.
The whispers grew louder, layered and overlapping—a symphony of temptation that seemed to pulse with the Flame itself. Zion’s gaze narrowed, his jaw clenched as the voices seeped deeper, prying at his resolve. For a moment, he hesitated, caught in the dark allure.
Then, without warning, he plunged both hands deep into its core.
The Flame reacted instantly, latching onto him like a predator’s claws sinking into its prey. Dark fire surged up his arms, coiling around him with ravenous intensity. Zion’s face twisted in agony as the searing energy tore through him. His scream ripped through the chamber, raw and primal, echoing off the crumbling walls as the Nether Flame devoured him, fusing with his very soul.
But as Zion’s body convulsed under the strain of its power, something incredible began to happen.
The small, burnt fragment of Zaire—the lone finger left behind, gave a faint twitch—a slight, almost imperceptible tremor. It twitched again and then once more as thin, dark tendrils unfurled, creeping like shadows across the ground. Slowly, inch by inch, they extended outward, growing and stretching like roots in search of life.
Then, bones began to form, coiling into place as if an invisible hand were weaving them together from the darkness. Bit by bit, they stretched and reshaped, new sinew snaking over the forming skeleton, muscle wrapping around it with agonizing slowness. The raw tissue knitted itself together as if under some unnatural force, mending layer by layer, skin pulling tight over muscle.
As the last threads of skin stitched themselves shut, Zaire’s chest heaved, drawing in his first breath. His eyes flew open, wild and fierce, pupils dilating as he scanned his surroundings, one hand clutching at his chest, the other pressing against the floor. He was back—whole and alive, yet utterly shaken. His fingers traced over his chest as if verifying that his body was real.
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His vision cleared just enough to take in the sight before him—Zion, still writhing under the torment of the Nether Flame. Realization hit him like a thunderclap.
"Father!" Zaire’s voice broke, raw with fear. His legs, still shaky from his regeneration, barely held him as he stumbled forward, rushing toward Zion.
He reached out, his hands gripping his father’s arm, trying with all his strength to pull him away from the Flame. But the Nether Flame clung to Zion like chains, binding him to its core, tightening with every passing second. Zaire gritted his teeth, tugging harder, desperation and panic flooding his every movement.
“Son? You’re... alive?” Zion’s voice trembled with shock and relief, but the moment was fleeting. “No, stop! This is the only way. The Nether Flame cannot be moved in its pure state; it’s bound to the Realm. To banish it, I must merge with it, become its Avatar once more. Only then can I send it—and myself—to Vordiyr.”
Zaire froze, disbelief washing over him. "What? No... no, you can’t!" His voice cracked as he pulled even harder. "You can’t do this! We’ll find another way!"
"There is no other way," Zion gasped, his body trembling violently under the crushing force of the Flame. "This was always the plan from the beginning. This is my penance... my atonement for everything I've done, for all the lives I've taken."
Zaire's hands trembled as he fought against the inevitable. "Father, please," he begged, his voice breaking. "Don’t do this! I don’t belong here without you!"
Zion’s eyes softened as he gazed at his son, his expression filled with love and regret. “Oh, Zaire. Listen to me.” He paused, his voice steady despite the pain. “You are not the monster they claimed you were. You never were. You are my son, and you were always enough, exactly as you are.”
Zaire’s vision blurred with tears, his throat tight. His hands slipped as he choked out, “Please, Father... Don’t... Don't leave me here alone.”
“I’m part of you, son. Nothing—not even the Flame—can take me from you. I’ll always be with you—in every choice you make, every path you walk. You'll never truly be alone. You are more courageous than you know, Zaire. And one day, you’ll see it too.”
Before Zaire could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the chamber. Kamari and Byron had arrived, bursting into the room, their fists hot and burning and their eyes wide as they took in the chaotic scene. Their gazes flicked from the crumbling walls to Zion, his body being consumed by the Nether Flame, and finally to Zaire.
Zion turned to Zaire, his voice urgent but fading. "Keep them busy... I need more time."
Zaire hesitated, his heart torn between the desire to save his father and the grim reality that Zion had already made his choice. His eyes brimmed with unshed tears, but he nodded, swallowing his grief. "Yes, father," he whispered.
As Kamari and Byron advanced, Zaire stepped forward, planting himself in their path, his body still weak but his resolve unshakable. His voice, though laced with pain, was firm. "I won’t let you interfere."
Kamari’s face tightened with emotion as he stepped toward Zaire, flames flickering at his hands. “Zaire, we don’t have to do this! We can still stop him before it's too late!”
Zaire’s eyes, dark and unreadable, locked onto Kamari’s. "I can’t do that," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "He’s my father... and I have to trust him."
Kamari hesitated as he glanced past Zaire to Zion, who was still locked in his battle with the Nether Flame. Meanwhile, the portal surged, its energy swirling ominously.
Zaire’s grief and loyalty kept him rooted in place—unwilling to step aside. The room fell into a tense silence, broken only by the crackle of the Flame and the distant rumble of the portal. "I’m sorry, Young Phoenix," he whispered one last time, his eyes glistening with both sorrow and determination as shadowy tendrils flared to life, wrapping around his arms like dark serpents.
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As Zaire engaged with Kamari and Byron, Zion stood by, trembling as the power of the Nether Flame surged through him, threatening to consume him entirely. In the eerie light of the fire, his memories unraveled like a thread coming loose, pulling him back to the very beginning—haunting moments from a life lived over a century ago. His life, once filled with hope and promise, flashed before his eyes.
It began with a small, lonely newborn left on the cold stone steps of the Kruvana Orphanage. Zion could still picture his younger self, huddled under tattered blankets, staring up at the heavy wooden door that would open to take him in. He had never known his parents or the reasons for his abandonment. Although those questions once echoed in his mind, they never defined him. Even as a child, something inside him burned brighter than the pain of rejection—an unnameable purpose that he could always feel.
While the other children played and laughed, Zion preferred the company of books over the lively chaos of the orphanage. He often sneaked into the dusty old library, where he could spend hundreds of hours among the shelves. In that quiet space, he discovered a world that made sense to him—one filled with knowledge and exploration. Time and again, he would fall asleep in the dim light of the library, curled up with a thick book under his head. The caretakers would carry him back to bed, whispering about the "strange boy with a brilliant mind."
Zion's intellect was undeniable. As he grew older, the caretakers could no longer overlook his potential. They pooled their limited resources, called in favors, and settled old debts to send him to Zephyri Academy, the most prestigious institution in Meiyr. At just fourteen years old, he became the youngest student in the academy's history. Stepping through the grand gates, Zion was filled with curiosity, his shabby clothes starkly contrasting with the wealth and privilege surrounding him.
At the academy, he began to find his place. For the first time, he wasn't the outcast among outcasts. Zion immersed himself in his studies, developing technologies and devices that harnessed Celestial Forces in ways that had never been done before. His groundbreaking work in channeling the God Forces—both Prime and Nether—made him a rising star. His passion and unrelenting drive caught the attention of someone extraordinary: Merlyn Zephyri.
Merlyn was not only the most renowned scholar of his time but also a warrior—a legendary Divine known for his immense power and his fearlessness on the battlefield. Zion remembered standing before him, trembling not with fear but with awe. Merlyn, impressed beyond words by Zion’s genius, took him under his wing, and from that day, Zion’s life was transformed.
Together, they pursued the seemingly impossible task of finding a way to stop the Nether Incursions that were tearing their world apart. They spent countless nights in the laboratory, meticulously studying theories and experimenting with forces that most would fear to even touch. During this time, Zion grew close to Merlyn’s daughter, Cinna. Like her father, Cinna was brilliant and fearless, contributing to their research with unwavering determination. She and Zion often worked late into the night, side by side, the flickering crystal light softly illuminating their faces as they debated and laughed together.
As the weight of their work pressed upon them, their bond deepened into something more profound. Zion vividly remembered the way her hand brushed against his one evening and how their eyes met, filled with unspoken understanding. Their love blossomed quietly but powerfully, and before long, Cinna became his wife.
But those moments of happiness were fleeting, quickly consumed by the darkness they had unintentionally unleashed. Zion understood this clearly now: the day the Nether Flame was born. They had acted recklessly, driven by ambition and an urgent desire to control the Incursions. When the dark flame ignited, Merlyn immediately sensed its malevolent nature. He warned Zion, urging him to destroy it. However, Zion, blinded by the belief that he could harness its power to put an end to the Incursions, refused to listen. He thought that if he could control the Nether Flame, he could save Meiyr.
Merlyn’s warnings became desperate pleas, but by the time Zion realized his mistake, it was too late. Merlyn, having been overexposed to the Flame, succumbed to its corrupting influence. Zion could still see his mentor’s final moments—the great warrior-scholar collapsing in the lab, his strength no match for the poison that now coursed through his body. The day Merlyn died was the day Zion’s soul truly began to fracture.
Cinna also fell victim to the corruption of the Flame. The energy of the Nether had gradually seeped into her system, initially unnoticed. However, when she became pregnant with their son, the corruption took hold. Zion had hoped for a miracle, but the day Zaire was born brought only tragedy. Cinna’s body, weakened by the Flame, could not endure the strain of childbirth. As Zaire entered the world, his mother departed from it. Zion held her hand as her breath faded, her once-brilliant eyes dimming. In her place lay the child they had longed for—marked by the same darkness that had claimed her.
Zaire was born with jagged horns and dark wings, unmistakable signs of the Nether’s curse. His tiny body displayed the demonic features of a Shaede, a reminder of the corruption that had tainted him before he ever took his first breath. Grief-stricken and terrified, Zion understood what would happen if the world saw his son. They would perceive him as a monster, a child of the Nether, and they would kill him without hesitation.
And so, with a heart already shattered by Cinna’s death, Zion had no choice but to confine Zaire, hiding him from the world. Each day, Zion felt a deep ache in his soul as he watched his son grow up in the shadows, aware that the same Flame that had claimed his wife now defined his child's very existence.
As Zaire grew, his demonic appearance became increasingly pronounced, but he inherited his father’s brilliance. Despite being confined, Zaire became Zion’s greatest ally in the mission to extinguish the Flame. They worked together in secret—father and son, both victims of the same darkness but united in their determination to end it.
But even that wasn't enough. The Flame had already corrupted Zion's soul. Despite his best efforts to destroy it, the Flame had fused with him, twisting both his mind and body. He became the very thing he had fought against—he became the Dark Lord, feared throughout Meiyr. Villages burned at his hands, innocents perished in his madness, and his name, once spoken with awe, became a curse on the lips of the people. He could see the destruction he had caused: the Infernal armies he led and the lives he had ended—each memory a fresh wound in his heart.
There had been moments of clarity, though, brief respites when the influence of the Nether Flame loosened its grip. Zion had discovered that Prime Crystals could counteract the Flame's influence, giving him precious moments of control. In one of those moments, he managed to separate the Flame from his soul, physically tearing it from his body. But the corruption lingered, the Flame’s whisper always present, tempting him back to the darkness.
He remembered the first time he had visited the A’Taro Clan in search of salvation. The Phoenix Core, the greatest source of Phoenix Energy in the Realm, was the only thing powerful enough to fuel the portal he needed to banish the Flame to the Infernal Realm of Vordiyr. He had come to the A’Taro village, hoping to plead his case before the Great Phoenix of Meiyr, Kamon A’Taro. However, by then, he was already known as the Dark Lord, and the A’Taro Clan refused to even hear him out. They attacked him on sight, with Kamon himself leading the charge. Zion could still recall the sight of a young boy, Kamari, clinging to his father’s leg, watching with wide, frightened eyes as the battle raged. Zion had fled that day, but it would not be his last visit.
The scene faded, and Zion returned to the present. He had done it. The Nether Flame burned fiercely within him, but now it was clearer than ever: there was no redemption left for him. This final act—his self-imposed exile to Vordiyr—was all that remained. It was his last chance for atonement.
His gaze fell on the Portal as he prepared to descend into the Infernal Realm. The memories of his past clung to him like ashes, but there was no turning back now. He would carry the Nether Flame with him into oblivion, even if it meant his soul would burn for all eternity.