As the viewers watched Rose settle into her frozen throne of rest, the main screen dimmed—her massacre fading into silence. The grand arena inhaled as one, anticipation freezing the air.
Then the image shifted.
The infernal glow of molten rivers replaced the ruined city. Amid a sea of fire and obsidian, a lone figure reclined on a beach chair carved from glacial ice—its edges refusing to melt. Draped in a loose murim robe, black hair brushing his eyes, Rin Sylvanyr stirred from his nap.
The contrast was absurd. The audience leaned forward as 50 participants approached rin from the shadows.
Rin remained on his chair amid a storm of embers and molten breath, a lone silhouette framed by rivers of gold. Magma coursed through split-stone arteries beneath his feet; heat shimmered across obsidian plains, bending the air until even shadows warped.
He inhaled once. The air burned going in. He exhaled frost, and he was surrounded.
A figure stood at the heart of it all—tall, calm, and composed, with long, silvery-blue hair swaying gently in the breeze. The sunlight glints faintly off his strands, each one shimmering like liquid frost, framing a face etched with quiet confidence and scars that whisper of battles past.
His expression is one of serene amusement, a knowing smirk curling at the corner of his lips—as though he already foresaw what comes next. Eyes half-lidded, they gleam with mischief and mastery, betraying a mind that moves three steps ahead of fate itself.
Slowly, almost ceremoniously, he raises his hand. Two fingers extend skyward, pressed together in a gesture both graceful and deliberate—a silent invocation of power, of will. The air seems to hum in response, trembling at the edge of his command.
For a heartbeat, time itself feels like it's holding its breath. The wind curls around him, tugging at his dark robes, and in that moment, from the heart of the sky, a faint shimmer began to pulse—subtle at first, like a mirage rippling across the heavens. Then, with a soundless tremor, the shimmer thickened, folding upon itself until it formed a single glowing spot—an orb of shadow and light made of ice, swirling with restrained energy. The air seemed to warp around it, bending like glass under pressure.
With a low, resonant hum, the anomaly unfurled. Darkness made from ice seeped outward, spiraling like ink through water, expanding in delicate tendrils that webbed across the clouds. The sky dimmed as if dusk had arrived too soon, and from that celestial point, a curtain began to descend—smooth, deliberate, unstoppable.
It spread wide as it fell, layers of translucent force cascading over one another like the folds of a great veil. The edges shimmered with faint light, tracing patterns of ancient symbols as the barrier extended downward. Eruptions glowed beneath its arc, their neon reflections rippling across its surface as it reached the Magma below.
Then—impact. A muted ripple burst outward when it touched the ground, and the veil locked into place with a soundless thrum. Lava, volcanoes, and everything in its radius—all swallowed within the dome's embrace.
From afar, it was a sight both awe-inspiring and ominous: a colossal sphere of darkened translucent ice, looming over the geography like the will of a god. Beneath its surface, the world seemed quieter—sealed away from the noise of existence. Inside that radius, reality itself bowed to a new law, one written in silence and shadow.
Rin looked indifferent, and then the guy said I am the leader here.
The boss replied saying. I know you may be wondering what just lowered down from the heavens, but don't fret, it's only there to prevent you from running away from us. And after that followed a grin like he had been dying to say those words.
From beneath, the ground screamed.
A Cryo-quake split the earth, fissures yawning wide, birthing spires of ice that speared upward to skewer him, pushing rin to move.
He sprang onto the first shard, feet kissing its edge. Another rose—he vaulted, landing light, sprinting across the erupting field at insane speeds as if dancing up a stairway of blades. Each leap left a footprint of mist.
The area was already filled with mountains and pillars of ice but they weren't done.
The earth continued to tremor and ice pillars began to sprout out of the ground at immeasurable numbers however rin still kept on moving.
Then the leader replied you are a runner alright but what are you going to do about this.
All the ice shards presents began to sprout branches and move like it had a mind of it's own joining together and hitting rin deep into the clouds however rin took no damage as the health bar on the leaderboard didn't move an inch.
Rin got to the peak of his momentum mid hair and formed a platform of ice from the atmosphere to step on, just beneath the top of the veil.
The air split with a sharp hum. In that fleeting heartbeat, Rin's arm twisted—not in flesh, but in form, reshaping with concentrated ice. Plates of ice slid and locked together, grinding softly like shifting gears, until his forearm gleamed with a white, obsidian sheen.
From his palm, a faint white glow pulsed, alive with fury. Sparks spiraled outward, tracing arcs of light that spun and converged, molding into a weapon born of ice and will. The glow intensified, then elongated, whirling faster and faster until it solidified—a revolving blade, fiery and mechanical, alive with raw power.
The air grew heavy, dense with killing intent. Frost began to snake outward from the Rin's feet, consuming earth and stone in crawling silence. The sky darkened, clouds swirling into a frigid vortex as mana surged upward like a tidal wave—then collapsed inward, converging in his outstretched hand.
Rin swung his revolving blade mid-air like a divine decree.
And In an instant, the clouds cleared. A massive form tore free from the poluted sky—its body forged from Rin's ice, its eyes blazing with the cold wrath of winter. The Dragon made of ice came down from the heavens, scales glittering with frozen radiance, its roar shaking the very air.
Then it struck.
The dragon dove, a roaring avalanche given life, tearing across the battlefield with cataclysmic force. Wherever it passed, the world froze—volcanoes splintered to crystal, magma turned to glass, and some enemies were caught mid-motion, locked in ice before it shattered from pressure.
The sheer pressure of the move left a crater of frost and silence in its wake, the crack in the dimension was filled up with ice and the steam rising from the sudden clash of mana and life snuffed out.
When the storm settled, nothing moved. The land was blanketed in shimmering blue, a field of statues where foes once stood. Above it all, shards of snow drifted lazily down, glinting in the pale light as the dragon's echo faded into the wind.
And in the center, rin stood—cloak billowing, eyes cold as the world he had just remade.
For a long moment, no one breathed.
Only the sound of settling frost echoed across the grand arena's speakers—soft, hollow, final.
Then, the silence shattered.
A tidal wave of cheers erupted, rising like thunder. The crowd surged to its feet as the replay flared across the colossal screen—Rin, standing amidst frozen ruin, robe swaying, eyes glacial.
"DID YOU SEE THAT?!" one commentator screamed, voice cracking through the speakers.
"A full wipe. A single move. ZERO DAMAGE!"
The second commentator stammered, half laughing, half in disbelief.
"That wasn't a technique—that was a natural disaster! A swing of his hand… just erased the entire field!"
Spectators clutched their heads, mouths agape. Some stared in reverent awe, others in terrified silence.
"He just swinged his blade!"
"Wasn't he… sleeping before the fight?"
"Whose kid is he?!"
Codex Record: The Infernal Expanse
Classification: Elemental Domain of Fire
Designation: The Molten Dominion / Pyrobranch VII
Tier: Prime Dimension (World Tree-Origin)
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Origin
Forged by the world tree, the Infernal Expanse is one of the prime realms birthed by the World Tree, an elemental offspring of its seventh branch — a realm of flame, pressure, and constant rebirth. Where other dimensions were woven with wind, sea, or frost, this one was sculpted from the Tree's molten core — the branch that burns so hot, its leaves are said to drip magma instead of dew.
Here, fire is law, and destruction is equilibrium. It is a plane where the concept of "cold" ceases to exist — a testing ground reserved for those who would challenge the flame of genesis itself.
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Environmental Conditions
Ambient Temperature: 8,000°C – 16,000°C
(Central core eruptions spike beyond 200,000°C; even divine alloys liquefy at this threshold.)
Atmospheric Density: Thick with volatile mana and cinderstorms. Every breath is ignition.
Gravity: Triple Earth-normal; each step drags the body down, as though the realm itself resents visitors.
Pressure: Comparable to volcanic mantle; only entities with reinforced mana shells can move freely.
The air glows dim red, shimmering like the inside of a forge. Molten rivers streak across plains of half-melted obsidian, and mountain ranges perpetually collapse and reform under the weight of eruptions.
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Terrain and Phenomena
Rivers of Aethernite: Magma infused with mana; burns at variable intensities based on nearby presence.
Volcanic Thrones: Floating monoliths formed from compressed firestone; natural foci for fire mages.
Blaze Serpents: Living currents of flame that hunt intruders like apex predators.
A colossal ocean of liquid plasma where stars fall to die.
The upper canopy(sky)—blackened clouds laced with lightning—serves as the realm's shield, rumbling with endless storms.