The void itself bled silence.
Neither Vemy nor Akiar moved as the fissure tore wider, its jagged edges dripping strands of black fire that ate away at the obsidian floor. The Prismarine glow around Vemy flickered uneasily, as if the flame itself resisted what was emerging.
Akiar's blade trembled in his hands. The storm around him dimmed, like lightning being swallowed by an endless night.
The voice came again. Not loud, not soft, but inevitable.
"Thieves of flame… you dare touch the Thirteenth Ring, yet you do not kneel."
Vemy clenched his fists tighter, Prismarine gauntlets flaring brighter in defiance. "I don't kneel to anyone."
The fissure pulsed—one heartbeat, two. Each pulse sent a wave of pressure across the chamber, and for the first time, Vemy felt his breath falter. It wasn't fear—it was instinct. His very soul screamed that the thing beyond the crack was not supposed to exist in the same world as him.
Akiar's jaw tightened. His eyes darted to Vemy, then back to the fissure. For once, his fury seemed replaced with something else: urgency.
"Vemy," he said, his voice low. "We can't fight this thing divided."
Vemy turned, surprised. "So now you're asking me to fight with you?"
Akiar's glare hardened. "Don't mistake it for alliance. It's survival. If that thing steps through…" He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to.
The fissure split wider, forming a jagged arch. Darkness poured out like liquid smoke, twisting the chamber into something alien. Platforms floated higher and further apart, reality bending under the weight of the thing crawling closer.
From within, shapes moved. Not human, not beast—something like arms, but endless, folding and unfolding through themselves. Chains clattered faintly, though none could be seen.
The Thrones above stirred at last. Their whispers broke the silence like falling glass:
"The Seal fractures."
"He comes."
"The Ring God awakens."
The title made the chamber colder. Even Vemy's flames recoiled at the sound. His pulse quickened, though his eyes stayed firm.
"I don't care what god it is," Vemy growled. "If it stands in my way, I'll burn it too."
Akiar nearly snapped at him, but the fissure flared again before he could. A claw slipped through—long, skeletal, woven of void-light and black fire. The very air distorted where it touched, bending light, unraveling color.
The chain clatter grew louder.
Then came the whisper, not from the fissure, but inside their heads.
"Flame that is not flame… storm that is not storm… You carry fragments of me already. Did you think you forged power on your own?"
Vemy's breath caught. His Prismarine fire stuttered for a moment, a flicker of doubt. Akiar's lightning sputtered, his grip faltering.
The realization slammed into both of them: their powers—Azure Flame, Prismarine Fire, Storm Aura—had always been echoes of something older. This voice. This god.
Vemy clenched his jaw, fighting the unease. "No. This fire is mine. I broke chains for it. I forged it from despair and made it mine!"
The entity chuckled—a sound like collapsing stars.
"All flames return to me. All storms break upon me. You are not bearers—you are vessels."
The fissure tore wider. The claw dragged itself out, followed by another. A silhouette loomed within the rift, too vast to belong in any mortal space.
Vemy roared, Prismarine wings flaring to full span. "Then I'll shatter your chains, too!"
He surged forward, fist blazing, aiming straight for the claw. Akiar cursed under his breath and leapt beside him, blade crackling with stormlight. For one heartbeat, rivals became reluctant allies, striking together against the impossible.
Their combined powers struck the claw. The chamber convulsed, the Thrones above recoiling. Prismarine fire and stormlight slammed against voidflame—
—and shattered harmlessly.
The claw didn't move. It didn't even flinch.
Instead, the voice returned, louder now, shaking marrow from bone.
"You would raise your hand against me? Then you shall serve as the first proof of my return."
The claw shifted—slowly, deliberately—before swiping.
The impact wasn't physical. It was like the void itself turned over. Platforms scattered into the abyss. Walls folded inward and then vanished. Both Vemy and Akiar were hurled back, their bodies ragdolls against reality's collapse.
When Vemy staggered to his feet, blood streaming from his forehead, he realized something horrifying—
The chamber was gone. The Thrones were gone. Even Akiar was nowhere in sight.
He stood alone on a fragment of stone drifting in endless darkness.
And before him, the fissure finished tearing open.
The Ring God's form began to step through.