The flames writhed like serpents as Ma-Rok's baton extended, shifting into a full-length staff wreathed in molten light. Heat rippled off it in waves, warping the very air between them, and the ground at her feet darkened, cracking beneath the strain of the inferno she carried. Her figure glowed—part woman, part living forge.
Seul's eyes narrowed. Her fingers twitched, and the air between them warped violently. Gravity condensed in domes around her teammates, forming translucent shields against the rolling heat. Even so, the oppressive pressure bore down—Ma-Rok's presence wasn't just hot, it was dense, like a sun falling in place.
Chul didn't wait for a signal. He surged forward, absorbing the rising thermal energy that pulsed through the floor. His body shimmered—heat siphoning into his limbs. When he struck, his fist exploded forward with a kinetic pulse charged by that very flame, a rippling distortion trailing behind.
