Ethan knew this opportunity could only come once in a thousand years.
With Azraeth V' khorath pouring spiritual fire into the eighteen floors, the entire area had become a vast reservoir—a living, roaring jar of fire for him to temper and absorb.
Not wasting a second, he'd messaged his master The Supreme Elder Ash Burn, and had the entrance to the seventeenth floor sealed, ensuring not a drop of this heat and flame energy would escape elsewhere.
What followed was a long, blissful trial by fire. Hours blurred into each other. Ethan lost track—three hours, six hours, perhaps a full day—he simply could not tell.
The only reality was the rising pressure: flame so thick it burst from black mist into hissing, popping flashes, tumbling around his form like angry spirits.
But every gain comes with a cost. Even Azraeth V'khorath, ancient and wily, started to sense something wrong.
