The moment Raj snapped his fingers, the crimson flames recoiled as though an unseen hand had snatched them back. The ground, once torn apart by rivers of molten lava and jagged obsidian, reshaped itself into a vast flat expanse. The air still shimmered with heat, the smell of sulfur lingering, but the field was eerily calm now — like the eye of a storm.
Dawon growled low, his golden eyes never leaving the scorched horizon. The beast's massive frame shuddered with instinctive fear, its mane bristling as if every hair screamed a warning. Om placed a steadying hand on Dawon's neck.
"Don't worry," Om whispered, his voice firm yet gentle. "We are strong now."
The lion's trembling eased, though its eyes still darted warily. Om's presence was enough.
Behind them, Narad and Sara had stepped cautiously into the cleared field. Their breaths came slow, their faces pale. The silence of this world, this space beyond reality, was not peace — it was dread. A place sculpted by power so ancient and merciless that even standing still felt like blasphemy.
"What… is this place?" Sara muttered, her words trembling as though she feared they might echo too loudly.
Narad's sharp gaze remained fixed on Raj. "This is no simple gate," he said. "It reeks of… judgment."
Raj, unfazed, stood at the center of the cleared field. His presence, sharp and domineering, pressed against them like an invisible weight. The faint hum of his aura resonated with the land itself. He finally turned, his eyes locking onto Om's.
"This place will serve," Raj said casually, as though choosing a training ground instead of a realm drenched in crimson fire. "It listens to me. That's enough."
Om tilted his head, still watching Raj closely. Something in him tightened — an awareness that his brother had changed even more than himself. Yet beneath that suffocating aura, Om felt something else too: a familiarity. A bond that even bloodlust could not sever.
Sara dared to take a step forward. "Raj," she asked carefully, "what are you planning here?"
Raj's lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. "Testing limits. Both mine… and his." His eyes flicked to Om.
Om's expression didn't waver. Instead, a slow smile spread across his face — sharp, mischievous, devilish. For the briefest second, Raj's heart skipped. That look, that glint in Om's eyes — it was the same as years ago. The boy who had once been untouchable, untamed, unpredictable.
Raj almost laughed, but instead muttered under his breath, "Finally… you're back."
The tension between the two brothers thickened, like steel wires straining under pressure. Even Narad felt it — that this wasn't just a reunion. It was the clash of two storms.
But before any further word could be exchanged, the ground trembled violently. Cracks split open around the field's edges, spilling fresh lava into the air. The crimson flames that Raj had pushed back now surged forward again, not in chaos but with intention. They bent, curved, and spiraled — forming shapes.
Faces. Screaming faces of the dead.
Sara gasped, clutching Narad's arm. "What is this…?"
Raj's eyes narrowed. "A reminder," he said coldly. "This world isn't empty. It's alive. And it watches."
The screaming faces writhed, their molten mouths open in endless torment. Their flames licked the edges of the cleared field, unable to breach the circle Raj had claimed.
Om's fists tightened. His instincts screamed at him to step forward, to shield Dawon, to confront the wailing fire. But before he could move, Raj lifted a single hand.
"Not yet, Om," he said with calm authority. "This place is mine to command. And yours to understand."
The voices grew louder, a chorus of agony, pressing against the walls of sanity. Dawon snarled, but Om held firm, his eyes locked onto Raj.
In that moment, Om realized something — Raj wasn't just powerful. He was different. Not merely a warrior, but a sovereign in his own right.
And here, in this crimson field of silence, Om would learn what that truly meant.
.
.
.
.
Narad and Sara stood further behind, the air around them trembling from the oppressive heat. Their faces bore awe and unease as their gazes swept across the scene—a world of fire and ruin, endless and merciless, as if one had stepped into the very belly of hell.
Then, with a simple snap of Raj's fingers, the inferno obeyed.
The ground within a hundred meters shuddered. Lava hissed, flames recoiled, and the blistering heat vanished as if cowed by his presence. In their place stretched a blackened plain, flat and stable, bordered by walls of fire beyond.
"Better," Raj muttered, rolling his shoulders. His eyes gleamed with mischief. "Now we have room to play."
Om's lips curled into a faint smile. "Play, huh?"
The air grew taut. Sparks leapt between them, invisible yet tangible, pulling Sara's breath short. Narad's eyes narrowed, calculating the rising power.
Raj planted his foot, a shockwave scattering embers. "So… little brother, show me what you've learned."
Om's response came not in words but in motion. His body blurred, cutting across the plain like a streak of lightning. His fist, wrapped in golden glyphs, shot toward Raj's chest.
Boom!
Raj tilted his torso, letting the punch graze past. The force behind it cracked the ground where it landed, scattering obsidian shards like bullets.
"Fast," Raj admitted with a smirk, "but predictable." His palm whipped out, striking Om's ribs. The blow carried enough force to topple a lesser warrior, but Om twisted with it, absorbing and dispersing the impact.
He grinned. "You'll have to do better."
Dawon's eyes widened as his partner danced on fire itself, exchanging blows with a figure who it felt untouchable.
Raj chuckled, the flames reflecting in his eyes. "Not bad. You really have changed."
The spar grew sharper. Om's fists became a blur, each strike carved with precision, weaving together his broken inheritance into an evolving style. Raj blocked and countered, his movements loose and effortless, like a predator humoring its prey. The clash rang across the plain—stone cracked, fire bent, and shockwaves pulsed outward.
At one point, Raj kicked, the ground cratering beneath his heel. Om caught the strike on his forearm, skidding backward with sparks flying beneath his boots. He straightened, chest heaving, but his eyes never wavered.
Sara whispered under her breath, "He's keeping up with Raj…"
Narad's lips pressed thin. "Not keeping up. Surviving. But even that is remarkable."
Raj cracked his neck, letting his grin widen. "Good. You've shed that weakness. But don't get ahead of yourself, Om."
Om crouched slightly, golden light flaring behind his pupils. "Don't worry. I intend to."
He launched forward again, and the two collided once more. Their strikes were not yet meant to kill—just enough to test, to measure, to taste the strength the other had forged in blood and pain.
Minutes passed in this dance of fists and wills. Neither sought victory, only acknowledgement.
Finally, Raj stepped back, raising his palm. "Enough."
Om halted mid-motion, his breath heavy, sweat glistening against the firelit air.
The older brother's smile softened. "You're ready."
Om exhaled slowly, his fists unclenching. A warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the surrounding flames.