The abyss vanished.
No chains. No lightning. No god. Only heat.
Vemy's body fell through endless fire, weightless, the Prismarine blaze wrapping him like a cocoon. The burn should have killed him a thousand times over, but instead it pulled him deeper, drawing him into itself.
When he struck ground, it wasn't ground at all. It was molten glass, stretching forever in every direction, pulsing with veins of fire. Every step hissed, every breath seared. Above him, no sky—only a ceiling of cracked obsidian, glowing red at the seams.
And in the center of it all stood… a throne.
Not the Thrones of the abyss, not gilded, not divine. This one was forged of blackened chains, melted into a jagged seat that bled embers with every pulse.
Someone sat there.
A figure with Vemy's face.
Not identical. Taller. Older. His features sharper, crueler. His wings burned brighter—no, not brighter, truer. Their Prismarine fire didn't flicker unstable like Vemy's did; it roared steady, sovereign, each feather a blade of molten crystal. His eyes burned through Vemy, flames coiling in the iris like whirlpools.
The figure smirked.
"Took you long enough to bleed your way here."
Vemy staggered back, fists instinctively clenched, wings twitching at his back. "What… what the hell are you?"
The figure rose from the throne, the sound of chains dragging with him. Each step cracked the molten glass beneath.
"I am what your god fears. What it tried to bury in chains. What you've been burning toward without even knowing."
Its gaze cut him like a blade.
"I am the Prismarine flame unchained."
The words rang through Vemy's bones. The chains of fire he'd fought above echoed in his memory—binding, suffocating. Yet here, in this furnace, the fire wasn't bound. It surged wild, vast, alive.
Vemy gritted his teeth. "If that's true, then why the hell do I feel like I'm dying every time I use it?"
The reflection tilted its head, smirk widening.
"Because you're weak."
The word hit harder than the Ring God's chains.
"You're a cracked vessel pretending to wield what was never tempered. Every time you ignite, you feed me. Every wound, every fracture—mine. And still, you swing your fists like that will change your fate."
The furnace shook, molten cracks widening under their feet. Vemy's flame sputtered, unstable, reacting to the presence of this other self.
His double raised a hand. A Prismarine blaze erupted instantly, forming into a blade of pure fire, jagged and merciless.
"This is what fire looks like when it isn't leashed by fear."
Vemy's instincts screamed, but he stepped forward, wings spreading, fists blazing. "You think I'll kneel to you, too? I'm done being someone else's weapon."
The reflection's grin turned feral.
"Then prove it. Survive your own flame."
With that, the figure struck—faster than thought, fireblade cleaving down, the whole furnace erupting into an inferno.
Vemy met it head-on, Prismarine fists clashing against the weapon, the impact splitting the molten glass beneath into rivers of fire. His arms shook, cracks widening along his body, but his roar drowned out the sound of shattering ground.
The reflection leaned close, their flames colliding in a blinding storm.
"Burn, Vemy. Burn until only one of us is left standing."
The furnace world convulsed, their clash sending sparks high enough to split the obsidian ceiling above.
And far away, in the abyss, Vemy's body convulsed, Prismarine fire flaring out of control. Akiar staggered back, shielding himself as the blaze grew hotter, higher, reshaping into something unrecognizable.
The Ring God's gaze sharpened.
Amusement faded.
"Ah. So the wound… opens wider than even I foresaw."
Chains surged toward the blazing cocoon of fire that was Vemy's body—
—only for the blaze to erupt, vaporizing them before they touched.
The god leaned forward, intrigued.
And waiting.