A human-like silhouette ford within the blaze. Broad shoulders. Flowing hair made of fla. Eyes of liquid gold that burned with sorrow—and power.
When the light settled, standing amidst the ruin was a man of molten flesh and shining armor, scales embedded like gemstones across his skin. His voice was deep, layered with both echo and heat.
"So... the forge has chosen another."
Rhys tightened his grip on his sword. "You’re—"
"I am what remains," the drake said, his tone calm now. "Pyraestus—the Fla that once guarded this heart. You’ve slain my vessel... and in doing so, awakened my second form."
The golden fire flickered in his eyes, ancient and tired. "Few reach this point, human. Even fewer survive it."
Rhys exhaled slowly. "You’re saying this isn’t over?"
Pyraestus’s lips curved faintly. "No. This is the true trial of the Dead Forge."
Flas rose around him, forming the shape of wings once more—but this ti, they burned clean and silent, like sacred fire. The molten platform beneath them hardened into obsidian as the heat focused inward.
"Three before you reached this place," Pyraestus said, voice echoing like molten bells. "Two perished in pride. One survived... and beca the first of the Flabound."
He raised his hand; sparks floated from his palm like embers seeking air. "You may be the fourth... or you may burn like the rest."
Puddle’s form flickered beside Rhys, eyes wide. "Master... this energy—he’s transcending dragon form. It’s—"
"An Ankhemset Form," Pyraestus finished for her. "The union of soul and fla—where the will of the drake fuses with the forge itself. You stand before the heart of fire itself, mortal. Face it, or be devoured."
The flas behind him exploded into a storm, shaping into a great circular sigil beneath his feet. The entire forge shuddered, molten rivers reversing their flow, drawn toward the center.
Rhys’s sword flared in answer, the Deathfire surging back to life, hotter and darker than before. His eyes narrowed, the reflection of that holy inferno dancing across his blade.
"Guess the forge isn’t done with yet," he muttered.
Pyraestus spread his arms. "Co, bearer of deathfire. Let us see if your will can temper even this fla!"
The chamber roared alive once more—two forces rising: one born of death, the other reborn from eternal fla.
And as Rhys charged, the second phase of the battle began—the fight against Pyraestus, the Reforged Fla.
The forge trembled beneath their clash.
Rhys’s sword t Pyraestus’s blazing arm with a thunderous shockwave—black-red Deathfire colliding with molten gold. Sparks erupted like teors, the heat so intense it warped the air around them.
Pyraestus moved faster than any dragon his size should have. His strikes weren’t wild—they were deliberate, forged through centuries of mastery. Every blow from his molten fists carried the weight of a volcano.
Rhys blocked one, his arms jolting from the sheer force. He twisted, countering with a [Swift Cut] that seared across Pyraestus’s flank. The molten skin hissed, briefly parting before sealing itself again with radiant fla.
"Impressive," Pyraestus said, voice calm even as fire bled from his wounds. "You strike like one who has suffered the forge before."
Rhys smirked through the heat. "You talk too much."
"Then burn faster!"
Pyraestus slamd his hand into the ground. The floor split open, rivers of molten tal spiraling upward like serpents. They ford chains of pure fla that lashed toward Rhys.
Rhys dodged the first, then the second—but one coiled around his leg, searing through armor. He grit his teeth and summoned [Water Blade], slicing through the burning chain. Steam exploded outward, clouding the air.
From the haze, Pyraestus’s voice thundered.
"You wield both death and life’s flow. No wonder the forge stirred for you."
He stepped through the mist, each stride leaving molten imprints. His flaming aura surged, burning brighter until even the forge walls began to lt again. "Show , bearer of deathfire—can you burn without consuming yourself?"
Rhys planted his sword into the ground, mana pulsing outward. "Let’s find out."
The floor split under his feet as Deathfire surged upward—black and crimson light spiraling into the ceiling. His armor glead with runic light; his eyes reflected twin infernos.
"[Execution Art – Hellwake Divide]!"
He swung his sword downward, and the Deathfire erupted in a cross-shaped blast, tearing through the obsidian platform and engulfing Pyraestus. The explosion painted the chamber in burning red and black, swallowing even the drake’s golden light.
For a heartbeat, it seed done.
Then—
A single voice echoed through the fla.
"Yes... that’s it."
From within the inferno, Pyraestus rose—unscathed, the molten cracks in his chest glowing brighter than ever. His flas had changed—no longer pure gold, but streaked with black and red, mirroring Rhys’s.
"Do you see now?" he said, smiling faintly. "Fla is not bound to good or evil. It is creation and destruction, both."
He raised his arm, gathering the swirling fires around him. The forge responded, its light bending toward him like worship.
"I had forgotten this feeling," he murmured. "The joy of battle. The song of will against will."
His wings unfurled again, forming a radiant sigil behind him. "Co then, Rhys of the Deathfire. Let us forge the truth of your fla."
The two charged at once.
Their blades t in the heart of the forge—one of steel, one of light. Every strike sent ripples through molten tal and mana alike. Flas rained like teors. Obsidian shattered beneath their feet.
Rhys channeled [Mana Shield], barely deflecting a crushing blow that would have shattered bone. He countered with [Whirlwind Slash], forcing Pyraestus back. The Deathfire wrapped around both fighters, feeding on their will—light and dark intertwining in a storm that burned reality itself.
Finally, both paused, standing amidst the firestorm—each barely standing, breath ragged, eyes locked.
Pyraestus smiled through the heat. "You endure. Even the forge hesitates to burn you now."
Rhys tightened his grip on his sword. "Then maybe it’s ti it learned who’s in control."
The drake-lord laughed, deep and thunderous, not in mockery but in respect. "Then co, human. Show the fla that defies gods."
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