The sky ripped open.
The wound widened with a shriek that was not sound but tearing existence itself. Clouds bent inward, drawn toward the crimson fissure. Lightning laced the edges, but the bolts burned red instead of white.
And from the wound descended a fragment of the infinite.
It was not the full shadow Ethan had seen in visions. Not yet. But even a shard of it dwarfed the tallest buildings. A colossal limb, faceless and shrouded, sliding from the scar like a claw breaching the world. Tendrils writhed downward, brushing rooftops, shattering windows with the weight of their presence.
Screams rose across the city as people scattered into the streets. Some dropped to their knees, clutching their heads, unable to endure the pressure. Others pointed phones upward, recording what their minds could barely process. The impossible was no longer hidden. The world was watching.
And Ethan was standing in its path.
---
The Stone roared in his chest, its fire surging so violently that his vision blurred. He could hardly breathe. His skin split in glowing fissures, light pouring through like molten veins. His body was breaking, but the fire demanded release.
He stepped forward anyway.
The rooftop shuddered as a tendril slammed down, cracking concrete like glass. The shockwave knocked Ethan to one knee. The tendril writhed, taller than the building itself, wriggling with inhuman hunger.
The villain's voice poured from it, layered and vast.
"You are ash in the wind. Burn, boy, and return the flame to me."
Ethan's hands shook. His body screamed to collapse. But the Stone pulsed, whispering its single word through the pain:
Fight.
He lifted his arms.
The fire erupted.
---
Crimson light burst outward, a dome of flame sweeping across the rooftop. The tendril shrieked—a sound that cracked glass across the street—and recoiled, its form dissolving where the light struck.
But two more replaced it instantly, slamming down on either side of him. The building groaned, the roof splitting beneath the impact. Debris rained, sparks flying from shattered cables.
Ethan staggered back, fire flaring from his chest in ragged bursts. He swung his arm instinctively, and a blade of red flame slashed outward, severing one tendril in a spray of shadow.
The second tendril whipped around, catching him across the ribs. The blow hurled him across the rooftop. His back struck the concrete wall so hard the breath tore from his lungs.
Pain seared him. He tasted blood. His vision blurred.
And still, he rose.
---
The scar pulsed again, and another fragment descended. This one humanoid—towering, faceless, a silhouette of infinity wrapped in chains of red light.
The city screamed. Alarms wailed. Helicopters swarmed the air, their spotlights catching only a fraction of the impossible shape.
Ethan could barely stand. His body trembled, his knees buckling. The Stone burned hotter with every heartbeat, and he knew he was reaching the edge. One more surge might kill him.
But if he didn't unleash it, the city would fall.
The villain's shadow leaned low over him, its voice crushing.
"You are nothing."
Ethan spat blood onto the concrete. His voice cracked but did not waver.
"Then nothing will fight you."
He ripped the Stone from his chest.
---
The world exploded.
Flame burst upward in a pillar so bright it split the night. Crimson light surged across the skyline, scorching the clouds, painting every building in red fire. The rooftop disintegrated beneath Ethan's feet, but he was no longer standing—he was hovering, suspended in the blaze.
The shadow reeled. The tendrils shrieked, writhing in agony as the fire carved through them. The humanoid fragment staggered back, its chains fracturing, shards of red glass scattering across the sky.
For a moment—just a moment—Ethan saw it falter. The infinite recoiled.
Hope flared with the fire.
But the cost came instantly.
Ethan screamed as the Stone's power ripped through him. His skin split wider, veins bursting light. Blood poured from his nose and eyes. His body was not built to hold this much. He was burning himself alive.
The fire answered anyway, stretching higher, pushing back the infinite.
And then, just as suddenly, it stopped.
---
The cloaked figure stood at the edge of the blaze, their shard glowing like a mirror of Ethan's Stone. They raised their hand, and the fire obeyed them, dimming, curling back.
Ethan collapsed, falling hard onto the fractured rooftop. His vision swam. He could barely move.
The cloaked figure's voice cut through the smoke.
"You are not ready. If you burn now, you end everything."
Ethan coughed blood, dragging himself upright. "I don't care… if it kills me."
The figure tilted their head, faceless, unreadable.
"And what will you protect when you are ash?"
Behind them, the infinite shadow withdrew slowly into the wound. Its tendrils coiled back, its form fading. The fissure in the sky sealed slightly, still glowing but smaller, calmer—for now.
The first descent had been repelled. But only barely.
Ethan's body trembled, broken, half-alive.
The cloaked figure knelt before him, their shard pulsing in rhythm with his Stone.
"Listen, boy. The fire is not a weapon. It is a hunger. If you wield it like this, it will devour you, and the villain will win without lifting a hand."
Ethan's voice cracked. "Then… what am I supposed to do?"
The figure leaned closer, whispering through the storm.
"Learn to master the hunger. Or be consumed by it."
They stood, their cloak billowing. The shard in their hand flared once more, then dimmed.
And before Ethan could ask another question, they vanished into the smoke.
---
Ethan lay broken on the rooftop, the city wailing beneath him, the wound still burning above. His chest ached where the Stone had fused to him again, its fire quiet—for now.
But the message was clear.
The door would open again.
And next time, the descent would not be a fragment.