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The cavern trembled, as though even the volcano itself was listening. Yaman stood before the throne, the oppressive heat swallowing his breath. His body trembled—not from the dragon's aura, but from the echoes of battle above.
Two powers clashed far beyond the stone ceiling: one was prideful, arrogant, dripping with cruelty—Zeldaris. The other was desperate, furious, fading with each heartbeat—Fernando.
Yaman's pupils shook. He knew. He felt it in his veins, as if the bond between father and son tied their souls together. The desperate magic he sensed was his father's.
Gehinom's vast head shifted, and for the first time his voice lost its mocking thunder. It rumbled low, sharp, as if cutting into Yaman's chest.
"Boy… your father is about to die."
The words pierced Yaman deeper than fire ever could. His body wavered, his knees buckled, and he collapsed forward onto the scorching rock.
"No… Father…" His voice cracked, strangled. He pressed his fists to the ground, blood sizzling as it mixed with heat. "He's fighting… and I can't… I can't…"
His mind snapped back to the moment Zeldaris hurled him into the volcano. His father's scream—despair, rage, sorrow—still echoed. He had thought he had died then, but no… Fernando was still fighting. Still bleeding. Still suffering.
And what was Yaman doing? Crawling in the dark, weak, broken.
"Damn it! DAMN IT!" He screamed until his throat tore. Tears spilled—but they vanished, hissing into steam before they could even touch the stone.
His rage boiled. His grief ignited. A burst of red and black lightning erupted around him, tearing through the cavern like wild blades. Rocks shattered, lava geysers surged, the very throne room trembled under his unleashed will.
For a moment, Yaman's power soared, raw and wild, like a storm that didn't know where to strike. His aura painted him like a figure of fire and shadow, defiant against despair.
But then—
A heavier force crushed it.
The air grew thick, suffocating. A weight unlike anything he had ever known pressed down on his bones. Gehinom's wings stretched slightly, his chest heaved, and his true aura unfurled like the opening of a hellmouth.
A flood of pressure smothered Yaman's lightning. His aura flickered, sparks dying under the weight of a sun. His body slammed to the ground, pinned as though the very volcano itself had decided he was unworthy.
Gehinom's eyes glowed brighter, molten rivers swirling within them.
"So it was you…" he rumbled, voice deep with revelation. "You are the one who dared stir me after centuries of silence. That pathetic surge of rage in the dark—it clawed at my dreams. And now…"
The dragon sneered, smoke curling from his fangs.
"…Now you kneel before me, boy. Weak, desperate, and unworthy."
Yaman's fists clenched, blood dripping into the cracks of stone. His teeth grit so hard they bled. His voice was hoarse, trembling, but it clawed its way through the suffocating air:
"…I won't kneel."
Gehinom's laughter boomed, arrogant and merciless, shaking the cavern like a quake.
---
Yaman's body trembled under the suffocating pressure, his forehead pressed against the scorching stone. His voice had cracked through the heat—"I won't kneel."
For a moment, silence. Then Gehinom's chest rumbled, and laughter thundered from his maw, rolling through the cavern like an avalanche of fire.
"Won't kneel?" the dragon sneered, lowering his molten eyes until their glow seared into Yaman's skin.
"You crawl, boy. You weep. You scream curses to the stone because you are powerless. Your father is bleeding his soul away, and you—" Gehinom's fangs flashed in a vicious grin— "you are hiding in my shadow."
Each word hit like a whip. Yaman's breath shook, his fists digging bloody grooves into the rock.
But he forced his voice through clenched teeth:
"…I'm not hiding."
Gehinom's eyes narrowed. His aura flared hotter, and the cavern walls began to melt.
---
"Not hiding?" Gehinom's voice deepened into a guttural snarl.
"Tell me, boy—what will your father's death mean? A man who gave his arm, his eye, his blood, to fight that arrogant wretch above… and his son?"
The dragon's head loomed closer, fangs like spears, dripping molten drool onto the floor where it hissed into steam.
"His son is nothing. Weak. Fragile. A boy tossed like garbage into the fire. You are no heir. No warrior. You are ash waiting to scatter."
Yaman's heart pounded, his chest heaving with ragged breath. The words pierced deeper than claws ever could. His vision blurred—not just from heat, but from shame.
For a moment he almost broke. Almost bowed. Almost accepted that the dragon's words were truth.
But then—through the crushing weight—Fernando's desperate magic flickered in his veins again, faint but alive. His father hadn't given up.
Yaman's blood boiled hotter. His eyes burned. His voice rose, torn but defiant:
"I'm not ash. I'm his son."
Red and black sparks cracked again around his body, faint but stubborn, refusing to die.
Gehinom watched, silent for the first time, his burning eyes narrowing with something between disdain and interest.
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The cavern throne rumbled as Gehinom leaned forward, his colossal frame casting shadows that danced like fire across the molten walls. His scarred chest rose and fell, his breath a furnace gale. His molten eyes fixed on Yaman, and in that gaze was not only rage but the weight of centuries.
"Do you want to know why I hate humans, boy?" Gehinom's voice rolled like an earthquake, every syllable a tremor that split the stones beneath Yaman's knees.
He flexed his claws, each movement grinding sparks against the throne's black stone. His voice grew harsher, deeper, dripping venom.
"Because they are vermin wearing the mask of weakness. They pretend to be fragile, to be pitied… but in their hearts burns only ambition. They beg us for protection, they kneel for knowledge, they call us gods. And when they are strong enough—"
The magma dragon's wings snapped wide, the gust of heat nearly knocking Yaman backward.
"—they stab us in the heart. That is humanity's truth."
Lava burst from the cracks of the chamber, spilling down like rivers of blood as his rage flared.
"I watched my kin die, not in glorious battle against worthy foes, but gutted like beasts by mortals who should have been beneath us. Dragon Slayer Magic… that cursed invention! A weapon born from a human's hunger for power, and fed by the cowardice of dragons who betrayed their own blood. They thought humans could be friends."
Gehinom's lips peeled back, baring molten-stained fangs. His voice thundered with disgust.
"Friends?!" His roar shook the cavern ceiling, ash and embers raining down.
"There are no friends among humans, only deceivers. Igneel, Grandeeney, Weisslogia, Skiadrum, Metalicana… fools, all of them! Blinded by soft hearts. They traded our kind's majesty for the company of insects."
His claws clenched, the scar on his stomach glowing faintly as his fury burned his ancient wound. His voice cracked with both rage and grief.
"Igneel… he called me brother. He betrayed me most of all. He gave his flame to a human, trusted him, raised him like his own son. A son who will one day… kill him."
For the first time, Gehinom's voice dropped to a dark whisper. His eyes blazed as if staring at a vision only he could see.
"That is the fate of dragons who trust humans. Death. Always death."
The volcano shook violently, lava surging as if the world itself bowed to the dragon's hatred. His gaze snapped back to Yaman.
"Do you understand now, boy? I do not hate humans because they are strong. I hate them because they are weak… weak, yet treacherous. Weak, yet they devour gods. That is their sin."
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