Mordan barely opened his eyes against the resistance of the rushing air. He realized he was at least ten feet above the ground. As his senses returned, he looked up and saw a strange creature—no eyes, no ears, no nose… only a mouth. It wore ragged cloth that covered parts of its head.
Gauge turned to his left and spotted Var, barely hanging onto the creature's other leg.
"Hold on, kid! I'll figure something out!" Var shouted.
The creature suddenly noticed the extra weight. With a violent shake, it flung Var off and tightened its grip around Gauge, holding him more securely. Then it screamed—
"YOU… SUPPOSED… NOT… HERE… ANOMALY!!!"
Its jagged mouth stretched wide, revealing rows of fangs. The words were barely formed, as though speech was unnatural to it—but it spoke, almost like it had once been something more.
It tried to fly away with Gauge when suddenly—
"Blood Origami: Crimson Whip!!!"
A whip of blood lashed around the creature's legs. It was Var! With a savage yank, he dragged the being down, forcing it to release Gauge and slamming it hard into the ground.
Gauge landed moments later, dust and ash scattering beneath him across the charred soil of Vel Kartha.
"What is that thing??" Gauge demanded, calm but unwavering, his eyes locked on the creature.
"That's the Gatekeeper," Var explained, stepping up behind him. "A nasty being—a low-tier god of this planet."
Gauge wanted to ask about these so-called gods, but pushed it aside. The fight came first. He steadied his stance.
The Gatekeeper roared and materialized an axe nearly its own size—six feet tall—its surface crackling with arcs of blue, lightning-like mimic energy.
Var's Riftcore began to beep furiously. He glanced at the readings, then shouted, urgency in his voice.
"Careful, kid! That thing is filled with gate energy from the one you walked through—concentrated to dangerous levels. One scratch could drain every drop of your life force!"
As he spoke, Var tore open his own flesh, crimson spilling freely. From it, a blade began to take shape. This was his ability—Blood Origami. Weapons forged from his own blood.
"Stay back, kid. I'll handle this. Vampires are known for their massive reservoirs of life force. I can take a hit and keep fighting—but the wound will still drain me, slowly killing me. Still… better me than you, dying in an instant."
He leveled his crimson blade against the Gatekeeper.
Gauge's voice trembled with frustration. "You? Why? We just met a few hours ago—and you'd die for me?"
Var walked past him, eyes never leaving their enemy. His stance firm, his voice steady.
"You had the chance to kill me, yet you didn't. And I know you're strong enough to do it. You may look cold and mysterious… but you're kind. Childish, even. Go on—I'll take care of this."
Gauge let out a low chuckle. Var glanced at him, puzzled.
"You're one to talk," Gauge smirked. "You're ready to die for a kid who tried to kill you a few hours ago. But don't worry… you won't be dying here."
Var's brow furrowed in curiosity. "You have a plan? How do we escape? What do we do?"
He tightened his grip on the Crimson Whip, but the strain was showing—the Gatekeeper wouldn't be held for long.
Gauge's eyes glowed faintly. His voice dropped cold, yet soft.
"I only said you won't be dying here. But someone definitely will…"
He clenched his fist. His skin cracked like volcanic rock, glowing white magma filling the fractures.
(Cut)
Gauge collapsed to his knees, panting—the heat of the white magma overwhelming his body. The flames hardened his skin, amplifying his raw strength with each strike.
Before him stood a towering man with a beard so sharp it looked like it could cut flesh.
Enter: Vagyros. An ancient mage, once the grand minister of the Azorian throne.
They trained in the barren woods, trees shattered by the force of Gauge's punches. Yet Vagyros looked disappointed.
"That won't do, Gauge. Not at all. You must master the flames. Find the balance between keeping them dormant and letting them run wild."
Gauge pushed himself to his feet, exhausted.
"Why should I train? No one in this city even sees me as one of their own. 'Fatherless bastard'—that's all I ever hear. Why should I protect them?"
Vagyros sighed, disappointment weighing his tone.
"I don't teach you to protect them. I teach you to protect yourself. These flames aren't ordinary. They're a remnant of primordial fire. Eons ago, that fire was extinguished—and you are the last source of it. Gauge, never forget that. Your origin doesn't matter. Power like this… does."
Gauge lowered his head, fighting back tears.
The mage's voice softened, shifting from stern to gentle.
"Your mother left you in my care—begged me to protect you. She was my only sister. I would give anything to honor her wish. But greater beings will hunger for the flames you carry. My strength won't be enough to stop them. So you must train, my boy. This magma will grow, ignite—and when it does, dangers beyond the horizon will come for you."
(Cut)
Gauge's fist glowed, magma burning brighter, surging up his arm. His feet drove into the earth, splitting the soil beneath him. With an explosive burst, he propelled forward, leaving a storm of ash in his wake.
The Gatekeeper raised its axe, lightning coursing across the blade. The distance between them closed in…
The axe and Gauge's molten fist—only inches apart.
Next Chapter – Molten Fists vs The Guardian Axe