Dante leaned against a tree near Valewood, shaking off the dirt from another round of lame F-rank quests—smashing rats, hauling logs—XP so thin it was a joke. Level 12 wasn't cutting it, and he was itching to prove he could outlast anyone and become the toughest adventurer around. A guild buddy mentioned The Lava Veil, an F-rank spot east with molten rivers and heat that sent people running. Dante cracked a grin. That was his kind of challenge. By midday, he hit the volcanic ridge, its entrance a dark, steamy crack. Bones lay scattered, scorched by lava. He stepped in, the heat hitting hard, but his Blade of Darkness and Flame class kicked in, brushing off fire and darkness like it was nothing. Sweet.
The cave was a sweaty inferno, walls glowing with molten veins, the floor a patchwork of lava flows and wobbly rock. His boots crunched ash, the air scorching his chest. Traps flared—flames bursting up, heat waves screwing with his sight—but Cinder's Grace held steady, keeping him cool. He spotted melted gear, adventurer junk stuck to stone, a quiet sign of past failures. Dante: "Bunch of dropouts. Let's see what's worth grabbing."
Deeper, the Aether thickened, a weird pulse under the heat. The tunnel opened to a massive chamber, lava rivers carving paths around a raised platform. A Corrupted Fire Beast loomed there, a bulky mess of molten rock and warped flesh, its claws dripping lava, eyes like furnace coals. It roared, shaking the cave.
Dante: "Big ugly brute. Time to cook it."
He yanked his sword free, its black blade glinting. The beast charged, molten claws slashing. Dante ducked, Agility keeping him quick, and swung, Strength driving the blade into its side. Lava blood splashed, sizzling on the ground, the smell choking.
Dante: "Fuck this heat's brutal!"
He roared:
Dante: "EMBER OF THE VOID!"
Black fire blasted out, wider at Level 2, hammering the beast. Its flesh charred, lava bubbling, but it swung back, a claw grazing his arm, pain stabbing deep. He bellowed:
Dante: "CINDER'S GRACE!"
Fiery Aether patched the cut, stamina dipping. The beast lunged again; Dante rolled, shouting:
Dante: "ASHEN REAVER!"
The blade, pumped with Level 2 Aether, tore through its chest, darkness shredding molten flesh. Gore splattered—lava guts spilling, flesh charring—its roar dying as it crashed, steaming. Dante caught his breath, the sword soaking up the beast's Aether. His stat window blinked—a solid XP boost.
Dante: "Not bad. Let's keep moving."
A soft whimper drifted over. Dante perked up, heading to a side chamber. There, chained to a Nether-forged altar, was Lirien—a lithe figure wrapped in dancing orange and red flames, like molten silk. Her shape teased—curves flaring, then blurring—her ember-bright eyes sparkling with mischief. Scars from Nether chains smoked on her fiery skin, a grim echo of the enslaved women and mass grave. Her voice, a warm, husky purr, cut in.
Lirien: "Oh, hot stuff, your armor's toast—let me wrap you in something steamy!"
Dante's burned leather fell apart, leaving him bare. He leaned against the altar, cool as ever, a sly grin on his face.
Dante: "Smooth move, firecracker, but I'm already too hot to handle."
Lirien's flames flickered, a brighter red flushing her form as she gaped, thrown off. She laughed, a sultry ripple, and waved a hand. The chains broke, and she floated closer, her movements flowing like liquid fire.
Lirien: "You sly fox! Fine, I'll craft you something to match that charm."
Her flames swirled, shaping metal and leather. The Ashen Flame Armor emerged—crafted from enchanted darksteel alloy and reinforced leather, lightweight yet tough, with a smooth black finish and faint crimson energy lines pulsing for strength. Interlocking plates covered a breathable, heat-resistant combat suit, paired with sleek pauldrons and vambraces for free movement. A classic black cape, fireproof and tear-resistant, draped from both shoulders, fastened with a rune-inscribed clasp, adding a bold flair. Leggings and grip-enhanced boots kept him agile on any terrain.
Lirien handed it over, her eyes teasing. Dante slid it on, the armor fitting like it was made for him, a smoky aura flaring up. His stat window popped up:
• Level Up! Level 15 Reached!
• Strength: 53 → 69 (+30%)
• Agility: 62 → 81 (+30%)
• Endurance: 41 → 53 (+30%)
• Intellect: 48 → 62 (+30%)
• Spirit: 53 → 74 (+30% + 5 fire gem)
• All Skills Level 2: Ember of the Void (wider radius, +50% fire), Ashen Reaver (+50% darkness, more Aether), Cinder's Grace (faster healing), Shadow Ember (faster, 20% Corrosion, +50% fire/darkness)
• Ashen Flame Armor: +30% stats, 35% crit chance (65% post-skill), +50% crit damage, +50% fire/darkness, +30% magic/physical defense
Dante tested it, shouting:
Dante: "SHADOW EMBER!"
A black fire streak sliced a rock, ash bursting, the 20% Corrosion eating its edge. The armor's power hit—strikes sharper, magic hotter. Lirien winked.
Lirien: "Rock it, tough guy. Hit me up when you want more heat."
Dante: "Keep dreaming, firecracker. I've got bigger things coming."
He smirked, sheathing his sword, the armor's crimson lines glowing soft.