In the forge, sweat rolled down Sunny's body as he hammered the incandescent bar of blessed alloy. Furious white sparks danced in the air — these ones not the immaterial sparks of soul essence, but the very real, white-hot particles of burning metal. The heat was sweltering, and the shadows flowed as the brilliant flames danced in the immolating furnace.
Sunny would have already singed his hair and received countless terrible burns if not for the Onyx Shell, which protected him against heat and fire. His expression was focused, and his hand was steady, delivering devastating blows with the black hammer at a steady rhythm.
The cadence of his blows and the ringing of metal filled the dark expanse of the forge chamber, which was hidden from the world in its own dimension, with a furious, but beautiful melody.
