Malik floated high above, wreathed in flame and fury, his body radiant with core-fire.
He hovered like a demigod, arms stretched wide, basking in the brilliance of his own creation. Infernal runes spiraled along his limbs, glowing with the heartbeat of his domain.
He didn't need to speak. He didn't need to scream commands. With Malik, the world obeyed instinctively.
Below him, the earth cracked open, veins of molten rock bleeding through shattered stone. The very ground beneath Alex hissed and churned, runes pulsing in sync with Malik's will. The terrain trembled—not from fear, but from reverence. This was Malik's realm. His masterpiece. His dominion.
Then, with a single lift of Malik's hand, the sky caught fire.
A tidal wave of flame surged downward—no, not just fire. A heatstorm armed with blades, tongues of molten steel riding the inferno's breath. The air split open under its weight, pressure distorting the horizon as the blaze thundered forward.
