(Third Person's POV)
The sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of deep orange.
In the school courtyard, the final event of the festival was being prepared: the bonfire.
Stacked wood stood ready to be lit, a symbolic end to the day's vibrant chaos.
Yoshioka Akira stood at the periphery, arms crossed, observing the proceedings with his customary stillness.
Beside him, Kirisu Mafuyu stood, her posture as impeccably professional as her dark suit.
"It was a good festival," Mafuyu commented, breaking the comfortable silence.
Akira simply nodded beside her.
"I have to thank you," She added, her voice softer.
"What for?"
"Shizuka told me. She was struggling terribly with the budget and the organization of the festival. But after speaking with you, she everything was magically solved, even if you admit you had no hand in it, by now all the teacher believe the opposite. The students had a festival full of memories they will never forget. Thank you, Yoshioka-san." She offered a slight, formal bow towards him.
He acknowledged it with another nod.
"And also," she continued, her tone dropping, "I have a more personal reason to thank you. The Vice-Principal... he was... scum."
Akira raised a single eyebrow.
"I know my vocabulary might surprise you, but there is no other way to describe that... beast."
Akira's expression shifted minutely, his crimson eyes gaining a sharp edge as he instantly understood the personal, unspoken connotations of her words. "Did he ever—?"
"Oh, no! Thank heaven, he didn't," Mafuyu quickly assured him, shaking her head and hands. "But... the insinuations he made were... profoundly inappropriate. I feared he might threaten my position, or target some of the colleagues I consider friends. Thanks to you, he is now where he belongs—away from this school."
"Hmm," he nodded. "If a similar situation ever arises, do not hesitate to inform me. I will handle it."
Mafuyu looked at him, surprised by the immediate, knightly offer of protection. It was so direct, so unhesitating. She giggled softly into her hand, whispering to herself, "I see why Shizuka is so taken with you." Louder, she said, "I will go check that my classroom is cleaned up. See you later, Yoshioka-san."
He nodded as she left.
Once she was gone, he turned slightly to the side. "Do you need anything?"
As if summoned, Gojo Satoru and Nanami Kento appeared, strolling towards him. "My, my! Just thought I'd check in on my dear cousin," Gojo announced, his voice carrying.
"Thanks to you, Gojo, every student and teacher in this school now genuinely believes we are related," Akira stated flatly.
"My fault? Then tell me, why did you play along?" Gojo challenged, a knowing smirk on his face.
Akira opened his mouth to retort but stopped. The question gave him pause.
'Wait. Why did I play along?'
He could have so easily dismissed Gojo's claim.
A single, flat denial to Shizuka would have sufficed.
But he hadn't. He had allowed the farce to continue.
As he searched for the reason, a fleeting memory surfaced.
A memory of himself, not as the retired, serene teacher he was now, but as a being of immense power and playful, almost chaotic mischief.
A being who, for a time, might have been not so different from the man standing before him.
Being around Gojo, it seemed, had stirred echoes of a self he had long since put away
Maybe, he just missed that time. Thoughts for later
"Let's just get to the point," Akira deflected, his voice back to its neutral tone.
"Sure thing, cousin," Gojo grinned. "Just forgot one thing before we head out. Give me your contact info so I can email you the details for your visit."
Akira looked at Gojo, then at Nanami, who was subtly shaking his head in a clear "Don't do it" gesture.
Akira simply nodded. "Very well." He relayed his phone number
"Good! See you around, Cousin!" Gojo said loudly, ensuring any nearby students heard him.
"Have a good night, Yoshioka-san," Nanami said with a sigh, producing a business card. "Here. If you need anything, I am willing to help. Also... good luck." He seemed to be offering condolences for the impending chaos of dealing with Gojo.
Akira pocketed the card with a nod, watching the two sorcerers disappear into the twilight.
------------------------
He decided to head towards the main gate, wondering if the food truck that his yakuza-looking neighbour was helping run had already departed. But his path was intercepted once more.
"Yoshioka-sensei"
He turned to see Shinomiya Kaguya, with Hayasaka Ai a silent shadow behind her.
"You are a difficult man to find," Kaguya stated, her voice cool and composed.
"I had other duties to attend to," he replied.
"I don't doubt it. It seems it has been a busy day for you," She conceded with a slight nod. "Nonetheless, I was looking for you. I have a proposition, if you are willing hear it."
"What is it?"
"I have come to offer you a position as a teacher at Shuchi'in Academy."
"No"
"Hm." Instead of being offended, Kaguya offered a small, knowing smile. "I already expected that."
"If I were to guess, your father sent you."
"Indeed," she confirmed. "My mission was merely to extend the offer. Now, I shall take my leave. But before I go, may I ask you a question?"
He raised an eyebrow, granting her permission.
"Could I... ever get it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
The "it" needed no explanation. It was freedom. Liberation from the gilded cage of the Shinomiya family.
The chance for the kindness trapped within her to truly flourish.
He stared at her, his crimson eyes seeming to look through her, into the very core of her struggle. "Have you ever heard the tale of Sisyphus?" he asked.
"I believe I have," Kaguya nodded, intrigued.
"The man condemned by the gods to roll a boulder up a mountain for eternity, only to watch it roll back down each time. A pointless, meaningless endeavor." Akira's voice was low, each word measured. "Most see it as the ultimate punishment. A life of futile labor. But there is another interpretation. They say that Sisyphus, in that endless, meaningless cycle, found his freedom. Not in completing the task, but in the way he carried the rock. In the determination of each step, in the mastery of his own struggle against the impossible. His purpose was not in reaching the summit, but in the dignity and will he exerted on the ascent. He found meaning not in the outcome, but in the struggle itself"
Kaguya listened, utterly captivated, each word etching itself into her heart. It was not the answer of easy freedom she perhaps secretly hoped for, but one of profound, hard-won strength.
She nodded slowly, a new resolve hardening in her eyes. "Thank you, Yoshioka-sensei. I appreciate your time."
He then turned his gaze to Hayasaka. His eyes held hers for a fraction of a second too long. "I hope your other employer finds my answer satisfactory as well," he stated, his tone devoid of accusation, merely factual.
Kaguya looked momentarily confused, but Hayasaka Ai felt a cold sweat instantly trace a path down her spine.
He knew
He knew she was reporting to Oko.
The casual, almost offhand way he revealed his knowledge was more terrifying than any direct confrontation.
"Let's go, Hayasaka," Kaguya ordered, already turning to walk towards the school's entrance.
With slightly trembling hands, Hayasaka pulled out her phone to call the limousine, the teacher's final words ringing in her ears, a stark reminder that the unassuming literature teacher was perhaps the most dangerous player she had ever encountered
Then Akira continued on his way towards the food-truck, his expression now a little bit serious.
A single, momentary thought surfacing in his head, alongside a river of memories that flew to the front of his mind
'Of course, after thousands of years, even if Sisyphus carried the stone in different ways all over, he was still imprisoned for all eternity. And in eternity, he might had run of ways to carry the stone. And then he would remember, that there was no way out of that mountain'
------------------------------
The bonfire roared to life, a towering pillar of flame and sparks that painted the night in flickering oranges and golds. It was the heart of the festival's finale, a tradition that drew students into its warm, chaotic orbit.
Couples, newly formed or long-established, swayed and danced in the firelight.
Bold confessions were shouted over the crackle of flames, met with joyous acceptance or gentle, public rejection.
Groups of friends laughed and linked arms, their shadows stretching and dancing like giants against the school walls.
For the teachers, it was a different kind of dance, one of vigilance.
While others patrolled the empty, darkened hallways to ensure no students were engaging in… private extracurricular activities… the duty of overseeing the bonfire itself fell to Hiratsuka Shizuka and Yoshioka Akira.
They stood a respectful distance from the heat, watching the scene unfold.
"It was a good day, don't you think?" Shizuka said, a satisfied smile on her face as she watched her students enjoy the fruits of her labour.
"Hm," Akira replied. His gaze, however, wasn't on the dancing students or the starry sky. It was locked on the flames themselves, watching them consume the wood with an intense, almost unsettling focus.
Since his encounters with Gojo and Kaguya, memories had been bubbling at the edges of his consciousness.
But now, faced with the raw, untamed element, more potent and painful recollections surfaced.
The roar of the fire wasn't just sound; it was the echo of a memory he clearly and painfully remembers
"Yoshioka? You okay?" Shizuka asked, her voice laced with concern.
He was so still, so deeply engrossed, that he hadn't heard her first call.
He blinked, the spell broken. His crossed arms tightened, his hands gripping his biceps as if steadying himself. "Sorry," he said, his voice slightly tighter than usual. "I just don't like fire."
"Huh? Are you scared of fire?" Shizuka asked, surprised. A man who seemed afraid of nothing being unnerved by a campfire was unexpected.
"No, it isn't that. I don't fear it," He clarified, his eyes still fixed on the inferno. "I just… don't like it. That's all."
Shizuka studied his profile, the way the firelight carved deep shadows into his stern features.
She saw it wasn't a simple dislike, but something deeper, more personal. She decided not to press. "I see" she said softly, turning back to the fire.
"You know," she began again, her tone shifting to something more reflective, "Ever since I was a teenager, I was alone." She hugged her own arms. "Not alone in the family or friends sense, but… I never had a true boyfriend."
Akira turned, a single eyebrow raised in mild surprise.
"I know, shocking, right?" she giggled, a little self-consciously. "But yeah, I was a bit tomboyish, very aggressive. It seemed to be a turn-off for most boys. Then college arrived, and I really started to feel the loneliness." She watched the couples dancing. "Most of my friends were paired off, leaving me as the perpetual third wheel. And the few guys I tried dating… they were only interested in my family's money. I realized it when they'd 'conveniently' forget their wallets or needed me to lend the money. I was naive enough to fall for it a few times, hoping it would lead to something real. Thankfully, it never went further than a free meal. But still…"
She sighed, the old hurt a faint ghost in her voice.
"And now, I'm in my mid-twenties. No boyfriend, no real dating experience. I thought my life was just going to be loneliness and cheap whiskey. That was… until you arrived." She fully turned to face him, her expression open and sincere. "Ever since I met you, my mornings got a little brighter, more lively. I actually look forward to coming to work now. I'm thankful I met you, Akira."
He turned to her fully.
His expression was, as always, difficult to read, but Shizuka had learned to look deeper. In the reflection of the fire in his crimson eyes, she saw a softness, a quiet acknowledgment that hadn't been there before.
"Thank you, Shizuka," he said, his voice low. "Your presence has always been… enjoyable as well."
It wasn't a grand declaration, but for Shizuka, it was everything.
A genuine, warm smile spread across her face.
"Hey," she ventured, feeling bold. "Are you doing anything these next two days?"
With the festival over, the school was granting a short break.
"I'm sorry, but I have a trip to attend. I will not be available," he replied.
"Oh," she said, her mood dipping slightly, though she fought to keep her smile. "I see."
"But," Akira added, almost as an afterthought, yet his gaze was deliberate, "I will message you when I have some free time. If you wish."
Her smile returned, brighter than before. "Sure," she said, her heart feeling lighter. "That would be perfect."
For a moment, standing there in the warm glow of the bonfire, with the sounds of celebration around them, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of them, a silent understanding blooming in the space between.
But where there is light, shadows are cast.
Unnoticed by either teacher, standing at the edge of the crowd, was a third-year student.
Sakurajima Mai watched the exchange, her usual confident demeanour replaced by a sombre, wistful expression.
The softness in her sensei's eyes, the smile on Hiratsuka-sensei's face, it painted a picture she couldn't bear to look at, yet couldn't tear her eyes away from.
A small, sad sigh escaped her lips as she turned and melted back into the crow, leaving the flickering scene of nascent romance behind
----------------------------------
(?)
The Firelink Altar was bathed in a searing, sacred light, the Lordvessel brimming with power before the massive, ornate gate. With a deep, grinding groan, the door swung inward, revealing not a physical path, but a tunnel of pure, blinding white light—the passage to the Kiln of the First Flame.
Akira stood before it, his Elite Knight Armor scarred and worn from his long journey. His crimson eyes, visible through his helm's slit, regarded the light not with awe, but with grim resolve.
He turned to the massive, coiled form of the Primordial Serpent.
"It is done, Frampt."
"Ahh...ohh! The Lordvessel is satiated. Magnificent!" Frampt's voice boomed, his giant teeth clicking. "You are the righteous successor to Gwyn, the new Great Lord. And I am Kingseeker no more. Your acquaintance was an honour. I must admit, I am very fond of you humans. Your stories were quite astonishing."
"Well, thank you, Frampt. I think of myself as a storyteller sometimes," Akira replied, a hint of dry irony in his tone.
"Indeed. Very well, young Aaden. May you enjoy serendipity. And may the Age of Fire perpetuate."
"May the Age of Fire perpetuate," Akira echoed, the words feeling like ash in his mouth.
He turned his back on the serpent and strode toward the light. As he crossed the threshold, he raised a hand, giving the Quiet Resolve gesture. It felt fitting.
He then stepped onto the ashen path, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of the Moonlight Greatsword strapped to his back.
The transition was instantaneous.
The sterile white light vanished, replaced by a desolate, grey landscape. He stood upon a vast plain of ash, beneath a sunless, orange-hued sky.
The skeletons of colossal, burned-out buildings thrust from the ground like the ribs of a dead god. The air was thick with silence and the taste of cinders.
He walked forward, his boots sinking into the fine, grey powder.
As he descended a small hill, a figure emerged from the haze, a Black Knight, its armour blackened by eternal soot, its movements jerky and aggressive.
It lunged without warning, its sword stabbing toward his chest.
Akira sidestepped with practiced ease, the blade whistling past him. In the same fluid motion, he unstrapped the Moonlight Greatsword.
There was no grand flourish, only a single, precise horizontal slash.
The ethereal blue blade passed through the knight's helmeted neck. The head toppled, and the body crumpled to the ash.
He continued, undeterred. Another Black Knight guarded the approach to the ruins of a grand structure, its own greatsword held in a two-handed grip.
It charged, bringing the massive blade down in a crushing overhead blow.
This time, Akira didn't dodge. He grabbed the blade of his own greatsword, adopting a half-sword grip, and met the attack with a sharp, upward parry.
The clang of metal echoed through the dead plain. The knight staggered, its guard broken. Akira reversed his grip, slamming the sword's pommel into the knight's helmet with a deafening clang.
As the knight reeled, Akira gripped the hilt with both hands, the Moonlight Greatsword flaring with brilliant blue energy. He brought it down in a devastating arc, cleaving the knight in a vertical half from head to toes
He did not look back.
He pressed on, traversing a precarious pathway of crumbling stone columns suspended over a bottomless abyss.
The scale of the devastation was profound. What once must have been a breath-taking citadel was now a tomb of ash and memory.
A third knight spotted him from across a gap, sprinting along the narrow connections of the colums to intercept him. Akira didn't wait. He planted his feet, raised the Moonlight Greatsword, and unleashed a sweeping arc of pure energy.
The crescent of light shot across the chasm. The Black Knight raised its shield, but the magical force detonated on impact, shattering the shield and hurling the knight backward into the void with a fading, metallic shriek.
Finally, he reached the end of the columns, arriving at a grand staircase that led down into the heart of the Kiln. At the top of the stairs, he saw it, the faint, golden glow of a summon sign. Solaire.
A part of him, the part that remembered jolly cooperation and good moments with the good spirited knight, was tempted. But this was not a task for companionship.
This was a duty, a final step in a plan for his own liberation. He walked past it. Though he did do the Praise the Sun gesture in front of the sign, in honour of his friend.
He descended. At the base of the stairs, a Black Knight, wielding a greataxe, stood guard. It let out a silent roar and charged, the massive axe head gleaming dully.
Akira stood his ground, a statue in Elite Knight armor.
Just as the axe began its descent, he moved, a blur of motion to the side. As the axe smashed into the ground where he had stood, he thrust the Moonlight Greatsword forward, piercing the knight's chest plate.
The knight struggled, trying to free itself, but Akira channeled his energy through the blade. A silent, expanding sphere of blue light erupted from within the knight, and it exploded into shards of dark metal and fading light
He rested his greatsword on his shoulder, its blade now humming with pent-up power as he charged it on his walk down the final stretch.
The last guardian, a lance-wielding Black Knight, stood before the final step of the stairs. It thrust its weapon forward in a lightning-fast lunge.
Akira answered with a thrust of his own.
A concentrated beam of moonlight shot from the tip of his sword, piercing the knight's chest with a clean, sizzling hole.
The knight fell to its knees. As Akira walked past, the knight made a final, feeble attempt to rise.
Akira didn't even break stride; a casual, backward swipe of the Moonlight Greatsword sent its head rolling.
He stood before the final fog gate. Behind it lay the First Flame, and its sole, pitiful protector.
A younger, more impressionable version of himself might have felt a thrill at the prospect of facing Gwyn, Lord of Sunlight.
But he knew better. The being he would find was not a lord, but a hollowed husk, a mindless keeper perpetuating a dying age.
Killing it would be a mercy.
He was not here to fanboy. He was not here as a pilgrim.
He was here on a mission.
The final act to gain his freedom from a far greater prison than this dying world.
His mind clear, his resolve steeled, he stepped through the fog.
The chamber beyond was vast and circular, the air shimmering with heat.
And there, in the centre, a figure rose from a crouch. Its body was emaciated, wreathed in flickering cinders, and it held a massive greatsword that burned with fire
Gwyn, Lord of Cinder.
The hollowed lord charged, a comet of dying embers. Gwyn's Greatsword of flame carved a blazing arc through the ashen air, moving with a speed that belied his desiccated form.
It was not the elegant, sun-kissed power of a lord, but the frantic, desperate fury of a cornered beast clinging to its last breath.
Akira met the charge not with a reckless counter, but with a fluid dodge, the heat of the blade searing the air beside his helm.
The Moonlight Greatsword hummed in his hands, its cool, blue light a stark contrast to the oppressive orange gloom.
As Gwyn recovered from the swing, Akira lunged, his blade aiming for the Lord's exposed side.
CLANG!
Gwyn parried with shocking strength, the impact sending a shower of sparks, both golden cinder and blue magic, cascading around them.
The force reverberated up Akira's arms.
This was no mindless hollow; it was a predator whose instincts were honed over an age. He could see a flicker of Gwyn in his way of fighting.
Even as a mindless hollow, he never loss any of his strength
The Lord of Cinder pressed the attack, a relentless barrage of sweeping, fiery slashes. Akira became a ghost in Elite Knight armour, weaving and ducking, his boots kicking up plumes of ash.
He parried when he had to, the sound of clashing steel echoing like a funeral bell in the vast chamber. Each block sent waves of searing heat through his armour, and he could feel the metal of his gauntlets growing hot.
He saw an opening.
As Gwyn overextended on a powerful overhead smash, Akira sidestepped and thrust the Moonlight Greatsword forward.
The ethereal blade sank deep into Gwyn's shoulder. A dry, crackling screech, like burning timber, escaped the Lord's lipless mouth.
He recoiled, black, syrupy blood sizzling on the blue steel.
Enraged, Gwyn's form seemed to swell with a final surge of the First Flame's power. His attacks became faster, more ferocious.
A blazing horizontal slash forced Akira to leap backward.
A follow-up thrust came instantly, too fast to fully evade.
The tip of the flaming greatsword grazed Akira's armoured thigh, and he grunted in pain, feeling the burn even through the steel.
He was being pushed back.
Gwyn's experience, the sheer weight of millennia's of combat, was overwhelming.
But Akira also had experience, hundreds of thousands of years of experience, so he switched tactics.
He began using the environment, leading the rampaging lord around the chamber, using the crumbling pillars as momentary shields against the relentless onslaught.
He waited, his crimson eyes calculating every move, every flicker of the dying flame.
His chance came as Gwyn, in a furious attempt to end the fight, put all his remaining power into a final, devastating lunge.
It was a move of pure, unadulterated killing intent, meant to impale and incinerate.
And Akira let it.
He twisted his body at the last possible second, but not enough.
The burning tip of Gwyn's Greatsword punched through his middle armour, just below his ribs, with a sickening crunch of metal and flesh.
A searing, unimaginable agony erupted through his entire being.
With a guttural roar, Gwyn leveraged his strength and lifted, hoisting Akira into the air, impaled upon the blade like a grisly trophy.
Akira's vision swam, the pain a white-hot fire in his core.
He could feel the primordial flame of the sword burning him from the inside. But his grip on the Moonlight Greatsword never loosened.
As he was lifted, dangling from Gwyn's blade, he looked directly into the hollow, burning sockets of the lord's eyes.
With the last of his strength, and a will forged in a thousand battles across countless worlds, Akira thrust his own sword upward.
The point of the Moonlight Greatsword found its mark, sliding neatly through the bottom of Gwyn's jaw and erupting out the top of his skull with a spray of black ichor and fragmented bone. The Lord of Cinder froze, his body seizing.
Gwyn's free hand twitched upward, his bony fingers clutching weakly at the blue blade now transfixing his head. A final, pathetic gurgle escaped him.
Then, with a monumental effort that tore at the horrific wound in his own abdomen, Akira yanked his greatsword upward and to the side.
There was a sound of tearing sinew and cracking bone. Gwyn's head was violently wrenched from his shoulders, detaching with a final, sickening pop.
The flaming greatsword instantly extinguished. The strength left the Lord's body, and it crumpled into a heap of smouldering ash and armour, the severed head still skewered on Akira's blade.
The weight of the impaling sword vanished, and Akira fell heavily to the ashen ground, a choked cry of pain forced from his lips.
The hilt of Gwyn's sword still protruded from his stomach.
He could see the ghastly wound, the edges of his armour and flesh blackened and glowing faintly with embers.
Gritting his teeth against the agony, he wrapped his hands around the hilt. The metal was still supernaturally hot, searing his palms through his gauntlets.
With a gut-wrenching, wet pull, he dragged the blade out of his body and let it clatter to the ground.
He collapsed onto his back, gasping.
He looked down at the wound, expecting to see a fatal flow of blood. But there was none.
The primordial flame that had coated the blade had cauterized the injury the moment it was inflicted. A blackened, horrific scar, shaped like a gash of cooled magma, was already searing over his flesh.
With a trembling hand, he unclipped his Estus Flask and drank deeply.
The familiar warmth flowed through him, mending broken bones, soothing burned tissue, and restoring his vitality.
The excruciating pain subsided to a deep, throbbing ache.
But when he looked down again, the scar remained.
A permanent, brutal memento of his victory over the Lord of Cinder
The Estus could heal the damage, but it could not erase the mark left by the First Flame itself. It was a brand, a testament to the price of his freedom.
He lay there in the ash, the silence of the dead world pressing in, the severed head of a god lying a few feet away, and the weight of his choice settling upon him.
After a moment of thougt, Akira pushed himself to his feet, the deep, throbbing ache in his abdomen stinging with every movement.
He walked over to the smouldering remains of Gwyn, the Lord of Cinder's hollowed husk now little more than a pile of ash and dying embers.
With a respectful solemnity, he reached out and collected the Lord's greatsword, the metal still warm, and stored it within his inventory.
It was a trophy, a relic of a bygone age.
He looked down at the ashes that were once a Lord.
Despite Gwyn's misguided fear that had doomed the world to this slow, rotting decay, his initial intentions had been to preserve life and light.
Akira joined his hands in a brief, silent prayer, not to a Lord, but for the memory of one.
A recognition of the fallen, no matter how flawed.
Then, he turned to the heart of the chamber.
The Bonfire.
The First Flame.
It was not a large fire, but its intensity was absolute.
A coiled sword stood at its centre, a symbol of linkage, of sacrifice.
This was the source of it all. The very essence of Light and Life, now guttering, desperate for fuel.
Akira knelt before it, the heat washing over his armoured form.
He took off his helmet and stared into the primordial core, his crimson eyes reflecting the dancing flames.
He knew what he had to do. The plan he and his partner had devised over countless cycles depended on this single, agonizing act.
Yet, he hesitated.
[Hesitating now?]
The familiar blue text box materialized in his vision, the voice of his eternal partner, the System, echoing in his mind.
It was a constant presence, his only true companion through the multitudes of lives he'd lived.
"You saw how that primordial flame hurt me" Akira whispered, his voice raw. "Even with all my Pain Resistance and Fire Resistance Skills, it burned like hell. But this... this is Pure, Primordial Fire. The very concept of Life and Light given form. It will pass through all my defences like wet paper and burn my very soul."
[I know. But what else? Do you want to turn back now?]
"Ah." He breathed deeply, the air tasting of cinders and finality. "Are you sure the plan will work?"
[The probability of success is approximately 87%. But if it fails... you can still go back now. Though, if He discovers your insubordination, who knows what punishment awaits. The Creator does not take defiance lightly.]
Akira shuddered, a visceral memory surfacing, the last time he had disobeyed the powerful being who had created this System. T
The threat had been... creatively horrifying. He had no desire to spend an eternity as an idol.
He liked his dick where it was, thank you very much.
He looked from the floating blue text back to the flame.
This was the crux of it all. The moment of truth.
He couldn't back down now. Not after coming so far.
This was his one chance to break the cycle, to forge his own path.
This was all or nothing.
"Be honest with me," Akira said, his voice steadying with resolve. "How long will I be in there? In the flame."
[This Primordial Flame will burn away everything that you are. Every ounce of strength, every memory, every facet of your being. And since I know you, I know the sheer, stubborn will you possess. The conflagration could last for millennia. Perhaps even millions of years, before your consciousness is finally, utterly extinguished and then we can continue]
A silence hung between them, heavier than any armour.
"...Let's do this," Akira said, his decision made.
He extended his armoured hand towards the heart of the flame.
[So long, partner]
"See you around best buddy"
The moment his gauntlet touched the base of the coiled sword, the world dissolved into agony
It was not a mere burn.
It was an annihilating wave of pure concept.
The flame did not consume his armour; it ignored it, passing through the metal as if it weren't there and seizing his very soul. It instantly raced up his arm, a white-hot tsunami of pain that eclipsed every injury he had ever suffered.
"Aaaggggh!" The scream was torn from his throat, a raw, animal sound of utter torment. "Aaaaaagh!"
The Primordial Flame enveloped him completely.
He was a man-shaped inferno, kneeling at the epicentre of the Kiln.
He could feel it, his soul being burned, every fibre of his existence being fed into the flame
"AAAAaAAGGGGH!" He screamed again, his body convulsing as his strength fled, leaving only the sensation of being unmade.
The fire spread, fuelled not by kindling, but by the immense fuel of his own will and soul.
The entire Kiln blazed with a new, terrifying intensity, the light swallowing the ashen desolation.
"AAAAAAGH!" The screams continued, each one a testament to a will that refused to be instantly broken.
And so, it began.
For a year, he burned, his screams echoing in a chamber where no one could hear.
For a century, he burned, the pain a constant, searing companion.
For a thousand years, he burned, his consciousness a flickering ember in a hurricane of fire.
For a hundred thousand years, he burned.
"AAAAAAAAAGH!"
A scream from a being who was no longer sure what he was screaming for, only that the pain was all that remained.
And the only things he knew, for an epoch that stretched into infinity, were the twin absolutes of Pain and Fire.