By all rights, Roman should've been a mangled heap of bones and torn flesh, left to rot in the shadow of falling gods. But instead, he crawled forward, his fingers digging into scorched earth, dragging his broken body inch by inch.
He was burning alive from the inside, but he didn't stop.
The terrain changed.
The ash gave way to cracked red stone, glowing faintly beneath the surface like molten veins. The air thickened—became heavy, metallic. Breathing it was like inhaling smoke laced with rusted nails.
Up ahead stood the crucible.
A colossal basin carved into the earth, wide as a battlefield and deep as a chasm, filled not with lava… but Bloodfire—liquid flame born from the rage of ancient gods. It didn't just burn flesh—it devoured soul.
To pass, one had to walk through it. Not over. Not around. Through.
Roman stood at the edge, barely able to hold himself up. The ground trembled beneath his feet, warning him—there was no illusion here. This was real.
