Perfect ⚡ Let's move right into the chaos.
The sky bled.
What had once been a scar had torn wider, jagged edges glowing like molten glass. Crimson light poured down on the city, staining rooftops, rivers, and human faces with its burn. The stars themselves seemed swallowed, drowned in red.
Ethan stood in the wreck of his apartment, glass crunching under his feet. His fire still licked along his arms, but it was dim now, trembling, as though even the Stone recoiled from what loomed above.
The soldiers had pulled back, regrouping in the street. Their radios crackled with frantic codes, orders drowned in static. Beyond them, the chanting mob pressed closer, their fever brightened by the bleeding sky. And overhead—shapes moved.
Not shadows this time. Not hints. But bodies.
Great, twisting forms pushed against the wound's edge, their limbs longer than towers, their faces voids filled with teeth. They writhed in silence, straining to step through. The air quaked with every movement.
The world was breaking.
---
The cloaked figure's shard pulsed. "The Rift has begun."
Ethan tore his eyes from the sky. "You knew this would happen?" His voice cracked.
The figure tilted their faceless head. "I knew it could. The Stone does not heal—it hungers. And when it hungers too long, the wound widens."
Ethan's chest burned. The Stone pulsed in answer, like it agreed. He staggered back. "So this is my fault?"
The figure's voice layered, harsh and soft at once. "No, boy. This is the villain's fault. But your fire is the only thing that can stop it."
Ethan clenched his fists, flame sparking uncontrolled. "I can't stop that." He pointed at the sky, at the titanic forms clawing against the veil. "I can't even stop them!" He gestured at the soldiers, at the cultists smashing through barricades below.
The figure stepped closer, their shard glowing brighter. "Then you must decide who you are. A vessel. Or a flame."
---
Gunfire erupted below. The soldiers had opened fire on the mob, but the cultists didn't fall like normal men. Some bled, others burned, but many only laughed, surging forward with cracked smiles and eyes glowing brighter than the helicopters above.
They were changing.
The Stone vibrated against Ethan's chest. His skin burned, as though their transformation was pulling at him.
One of the cultists looked up, meeting his eyes through the shattered window. Their voice carried, raw and guttural:
Come to us, Vessel! The Rift is yours to open!
Others took up the cry, chanting his name, their voices weaving with the villain's whispers.
Ethan stumbled back, shaking. "They know me. They—how do they know my name?"
The cloaked figure's voice was grave. "Because the villain speaks through them. The Rift is its mouthpiece, and your fire its tongue."
Ethan pressed both hands to his chest, gasping. "It wants me to finish this. To let it in."
The whispers surged: Yes. Open. Burn. Become.
---
The figure stepped closer, their tone cutting through the storm. "Listen to me. If the Rift widens, there will be no stopping it. You must seal it."
Ethan's eyes snapped to the figure. "Seal it? How? I can't even control it half the time—"
"You can." The figure raised their shard. Crimson light flared, matching the Stone in Ethan's chest. "The fire is not destruction alone. It can close as well as burn. But the cost—"
They stopped.
Ethan's breath caught. "The cost?"
The figure's silence was answer enough.
---
A thunderous crack split the air.
One of the titanic forms tore free.
It tumbled through the Rift, a colossal shape with limbs of smoke and claws of bone. It hit the city with an earthquake roar, smashing through towers like glass. Fire erupted in its wake, buildings crumbling to ash. People screamed, their voices drowned by its hollow shriek.
Ethan staggered to the window. His knees buckled. "Oh my God."
The figure's voice hardened. "Now you see. The Rift is no storm, no vision. It is birth. And you are the midwife."
Ethan's fire surged, spiraling up his arms, begging to be unleashed. His chest heaved. "I can't. I can't fight that!"
The figure's shard pulsed brighter, fierce. "You can. Or everything dies."
---
The door behind them crashed open. Soldiers stormed back in, guns raised. The cultists surged through the other side, climbing walls, smashing through shattered stairwells.
Both sides screamed Ethan's name.
The Stone burned white-hot, a star in his chest. His vision blurred, crimson light spilling across his skin. His fire roared outward, uncontrolled, smashing walls, shattering the ceiling.
The Rift screamed in answer.
Shadows poured through the widening wound, smaller than the titans but endless, swarming through the sky like locusts. They dove toward the city, tearing at soldiers and cultists alike, feasting on anything they touched.
The world dissolved into chaos.
---
Ethan fell to his knees, clutching his chest. His fire poured out, spilling uncontrolled, lashing at everything. His voice cracked into a scream.
The cloaked figure knelt beside him, their shard pressed close. "Listen to me, Ethan! You must decide now. Vessel—or flame?"
The Stone's voice tore through him: Burn them all. Open the Rift. Become infinite.
The figure's voice cut across it: "Shape. Close it. Save them."
Ethan's body shook, fire ripping through the room. His vision filled with futures again—himself kneeling as the villain's vessel, flames consuming the world; himself dying alone, Stone cracked and silent; himself sealing the Rift, but fading into ash.
The fire begged him to choose.
And for the first time, Ethan realized—he could.
---
He staggered upright, flames wrapping his arms. The soldiers froze. The cultists fell silent. Even the titanic beast clawing through the skyline turned, its hollow eyes locking onto the boy burning like a star.
Ethan raised his hand.
His voice shook, but it carried over the chaos:
"I'm not your vessel. I'm not your weapon. I'm—"
His fire surged upward, coiling into the sky. It struck the Rift like a whip, lashing across the bleeding wound. Crimson light clashed against crimson flame, the sound a thunderous scream. The Rift shuddered, its edges trembling.
The titanic forms writhed, their claws scratching against the veil. The smaller shadows shrieked, bursting like ash against the fire.
The city shook with the struggle.
And then—the Rift bent inward, just slightly, as if resisting.
Ethan gasped, the fire draining him. His knees buckled.
The cloaked figure's voice thundered behind him: "Again!"
Ethan raised his arm, screaming. Fire whipped upward once more, brighter, sharper, cutting across the Rift.
The wound convulsed. The titans shrieked, claws slipping back into the void.
The Rift began to close.
---
But as it shrank, the Stone in Ethan's chest screamed with hunger. Pain ripped through him, fire turning black at the edges. His body trembled, veins glowing crimson. He realized the truth too late:
Every inch the Rift closed, it drained him.
The cost was him.
Ethan fell to his knees, fire sputtering. The Rift hung half-closed, edges trembling. The titans writhed within, their hollow eyes blazing hate.
The cloaked figure's shard glowed furiously, echoing his flame. "Do not stop! You are the fire! Finish it!"
Ethan gasped, choking, his vision going dark. "I—I can't—"
The Stone pulsed, deeper than bone, its whisper soft now, almost gentle: Let go. Become mine. Live forever.
Ethan's body shook between two choices: surrender to the villain's promise, or burn himself out to seal the Rift.
The city held its breath.
The world waited.