The rift shimmered at the edge of the expanse, calling him toward Little Garden. Its pull was steady, irresistible. Yet Cinder did not step forward. Not yet.
A thought took root. A whisper of instinct.
If a world had been born, then it could not remain empty. Creation demanded witnesses, rulers, and voices. He would not walk into Little Garden alone—he would arrive as a father of gods.
Cinder raised one hand, and for the first time since his transformation, one of his incomprehensible tentacles unfurled from his wings behind him. It twisted through the void like a piece of flaming shadow given shape, both grotesque and majestic.
He gritted his teeth, then sliced through it.
The wound bled not red, but something deeper—cosmic ichor that shimmered with stars. Droplets floated in the air around him, each one heavy with the essence of a Great One.
He extended his other hand, and fire answered.
Under the command of the First Flame and the Frenzied Flame, each droplet of blood was ignited by a different fire. Blood and fire merged, and from that union, beings took shape—flaming Great Ones, incomprehensible yet distinct, each a living embodiment of the fire that birthed them.
The Pantheon of Flaming Great Ones:
Born from the Black Flame
Its form is a colossal, writhing column of shadow and smoke, with tendrils that coil endlessly, dotted with tiny, screaming embers. Its form constantly shifts, sometimes dissolving into pure darkness, sometimes erupting into sharp, obsidian shards.
Its authority is devourer of gods and light, master of hunger and inevitability.
Born from the Death Flame
Its form is a floating, jagged sphere of black-and-crimson fire, with skeletal spires radiating outward. Its eyes glow like dying suns, and its voice is a whisper of finality.
Its authority is sovereign of mortality, life and death intertwined.
Born from the Deathblight Flame
Its form is pale yellow-and-black smoke, forming a shifting mass of mouths, eyes, and ephemeral wings. Wherever it drifts, frost and rot cling to the void.
Its authority is harbinger of inevitability and decay.
Born from the Omen Flame
Its form is a molten tower of ash and metal, constantly flickering, covered in ephemeral, half-seen sigils. Its surface displays fragments of futures that may never occur.
Its authority is master of denied inheritance, prophecy, and cursed fate.
Born from the Ghostflame
Its form is cold, drifting, blue-white flame split into hundreds of spectral fragments, each whispering lost memories. Frigid winds trail its movements.
Its authority is guardian of wandering spirits, death entwined with frost.
Born from the Blue Flame
Its form is a swirling vortex of azure fire, forming impossible geometries and spiraling runes that float around its core. Sparks leap unpredictably.
Its authority is embodiment of contradiction, fusion of flame and sorcery.
Born from the Magic Flame
Its form is a glowing cube of pure azure fire, constantly folding in on itself, arcs of raw energy streaming outward. Its form bends space subtly.
Its authority is arcane manipulation and the essence of sorcery-bound flame.
Born from the Holy Flame
Its form is golden radiance forming shifting beams and rings, wings of light unfurl from its core, constantly reshaping into haloed patterns.
Its authority is embodiment of sanctity, divine light, and order.
Born from the Dragon Flame
Its form is a molten serpentine entity, scales glowing red-gold, wings and coils writhing endlessly, eyes like molten lava. Its roar reverberates across the void.
Its authority is primordial wrath, fire of dragons, ancient destruction.
Born from the Chaos Flame
Its form is fractal flames of every hue, splitting into smaller fires and reforming unpredictably. Its shape is never stable, constantly twisting and branching.
Its authority is incarnation of disorder, madness, and corruptive fertility.
Born from the Profaned Flame
Its form is crimson fire bound in writhing chains, sparks continuously escaping like tiny devouring serpents. Its form knots and twists endlessly.
Its authority is unending consumption and cursed, eternal hunger.
Born from the Taker's Flame
Its form is skeletal, dark fire with spindly tendrils, constantly extending to draw substance from the void. Its hollow core pulses with stolen energy.
Its authority is devourer of vitality, predator of flesh and spirit.
Born from the Bloodflame
Its form is thick, viscous red fire, coiling and dripping like molten blood. Veins of molten fire pulse along its surface.
Its authority is embodiment of sacrifice, passion, and suffering.
Born from the Rot Flame
Its form is pinkish fire, festering and bubbling, crawling with tiny writhing forms. Its scent corrodes the void, twisting matter subtly.
Its authority is master of decay, corruption, and the paradox of growth through destruction.
Born from the Gelmir Flame
Its form is jagged, molten mountain of flame, oozing and dripping lava-like matter, rumbling constantly.
Its authority is incarnation of ambition, gluttony, and insatiable desire.
Born from the Flame of Perdition
Its form is pale, skeletal flame that flickers and melts edges into nothingness, as if erasing space itself.
Its authority is corruption of memory, law, and self.
Born from the Messmerflame
Its form is serpentine fire, endlessly crawling and coiling, each segment alive with its own consciousness. Sparks hiss and writhe along its surface.
Its authority is living conflagration, embodiment of persistence and unextinguished life.
Born from the Flames of Slumber
Its form is lavender flame, drifting clouds softly pulsing, subtly shaping into faces and figures before dissolving.
Its authority is lull, dreams, and eternal sleep.
Born from the Flame Lightning
Its form is jagged orange flame, crackling with lightning arcs, forming spires and whips of pure energy.
Its authority is fusion of fire and storm, raw destructive force.
As each Great One gathered around him, they flared, twisted, and contorted in a chaotic display of fire and life. Each tried to stand out, to be noticed, to claim a moment of attention. It was as if they were children, vying for the attention of their father, leaping, coiling, splitting, and writhing in impossible ways—all demanding, look at me, see what I am.
The void pulsed with their energy, a storm of flame and life. Cinder exhaled slowly, taking in the wild, radiant assembly before him. His pantheon—his children—hovered around him, impossible, unique, each proclaiming their existence with fire.
The rift shimmered. His universe seeded, his pantheon complete, Cinder finally turned toward the waiting light of Little Garden.