The abyss screamed.
Chains lashed in every direction, crashing down like endless serpents of living fire. Each one struck with the weight of a thousand years, dragging reality itself into submission. The void fractured with every impact, shards of shattered gravity spiraling away into the endless dark.
Vemy's lungs burned. His Prismarine fire thrashed around him, but it wasn't his anymore. Each flare, each flicker bent toward the Ring God, resonating in perfect rhythm with that colossal frame. He could feel it—his own flame bowing without his permission, obeying a will that wasn't his.
The god's voice pressed against his skull, against his bones, against the marrow of his soul.
"Do you see now? You are not a wielder. You are a vessel. Every spark you call yours belongs to me."
A chain slammed across his chest. Not into flesh—into his spirit. Vemy screamed, buckling under the weight, knees grinding against the fragment of stone beneath him. His fire guttered, half-extinguished, coiling back toward its master like a runaway dog to its leash.
From behind him, Akiar carved through the storm of chains, his blade whistling arcs of lightning that split the dark. But even he faltered. The chains rewove themselves endlessly, each strike buying seconds, nothing more. His cloak whipped in the violent winds, his voice sharp with fury.
"Vemy! Hold on!"
"I—can't—" Blood sprayed from his lips, his chest caving inward as if invisible hands squeezed the life out of him. His Prismarine wings shivered, feathers of flame disintegrating mid-flight.
The Ring God leaned forward, its face—or what passed for a face—stretching across dimensions. Eyes like collapsing stars fixed on him, vast and merciless.
"You are ash pretending to be flame. Kneel, and fulfill your purpose."
The command wasn't shouted. It didn't need to be. The words were gravity. The words were inevitability.
And for a moment, Vemy's knees bent. His forehead nearly touched the fractured stone.
He saw visions then. Chains coiling around countless others who bore fragments before him. Warriors who had carried the spark in ages past. He saw them rise, fight, scream—then kneel. Every one of them broken, every one of them devoured by the god's will.
That was supposed to be his fate too.
But in the suffocating silence between breaths, something else flickered.
Not divine flame. Not the Prismarine's resonance.
Something smaller.
A laugh.
A memory of nights spent with people who weren't gods or kings.
A vow made not to the void, but to himself—that no matter what, he'd never bow.
His teeth ground together hard enough to draw blood. His body shook, breaking under the weight. But somewhere inside, something snapped.
"No…" His voice tore raw, guttural. His eyes blazed through the blur of silver-blue light. "I am not your vessel. I am not your chain."
The Prismarine fire convulsed, writhing violently. Half of it still bent to the god, but the other half clawed back toward him, jagged and unstable. The two halves collided inside his veins, ripping him apart from within.
Pain exploded through him, shredding his chest, his bones, his vision. But instead of yielding, he screamed.
The scream wasn't human.
Wings of fractured glass-fire erupted from his back, jagged and shifting like broken mirrors catching starlight. His fists burned, molten flame dripping like liquid glass, every spark sharp enough to cut. His veins glowed with molten cracks, silver and blue clashing violently until they fused into something new.
The chains struck again—only to shatter against him.
A shockwave ripped through the abyss, scattering fragments of voidstone in every direction. The Ring God tilted its head, watching the transformation unfold. Its voice rumbled, not in rage, but in something worse—amusement.
"An unchained spark…"
Even Akiar froze. Lightning faltered at his blade's edge as his storm recoiled from the heat radiating off Vemy's body. His cloak whipped back, his eyes widening at the sight. "What the hell are you becoming…?"
Vemy rose, trembling, but unbroken. His new wings stretched wide, casting fractured light across the void. His gaze locked on the god, veins of fire still splitting his skin, his body burning itself alive just to stand.
"You said every flame bends to you…" His voice was steady now, low and dangerous. "Then break on this one."
The Ring God extended its hand, chains fusing into weapons—blades of fire, spears of history, axes forged of origin itself. The abyss howled as the arsenal formed.
Its laughter rolled like thunder, shaking eternity.
"Good. Then burn for me, child of rebellion. Burn until the void itself kneels."
The clash ignited.
Prismarine fire, stormlight, and divine chains collided in a storm of destruction. Every strike tore reality wider, every impact echoing across the ashes of Thrones. And in the center of it, for the first time—
Vemy wasn't just fighting to survive.
He was fighting to prove the fire was his.
And the Ring God had finally found something worth testing.