Author: Intense fight sheesh!
Liang Feng blinked as the world settled around him, the disorienting swirl of blue and crimson light fading into a sharp, unfamiliar reality. The oppressive energy from the chasm was gone, replaced by a strange stillness that weighed heavily on his senses. He stood in a vast expanse, his boots pressing into smooth stone that seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions. Above him, an alien sky burned—an ever-shifting mosaic of fire and shadow, its colors bleeding together in unnatural patterns.
"Where… am I?" His voice echoed faintly, swallowed by the sheer vastness of the place.
The cursed flame flickered in his palm, a muted glow that provided little warmth or reassurance. Liang instinctively tightened his grip, scanning his surroundings for any sign of danger. The stone beneath his feet wasn't ordinary; faint patterns carved into its surface pulsed softly with a golden hue, as if alive. Each pulse seemed to resonate with the cursed flame, drawing his attention to a distant structure that loomed against the fiery horizon.
It was a tower, or perhaps many towers intertwined. Their jagged spires reached impossibly high, piercing the sky like the talons of some ancient beast. The architecture was unlike anything Liang had ever seen, a blend of sharp angles and flowing curves that defied logic. Strange symbols adorned its surface, glowing faintly with an ethereal light that mirrored the patterns on the ground.
Liang took a tentative step forward. The moment his foot landed, the patterns beneath him flared brighter, as if acknowledging his presence. A low hum filled the air, vibrating deep in his chest. He paused, his pulse quickening.
"Is this part of the trial?" he muttered, though there was no one to answer. The memory of his vision—the phoenixes, the city of flame, the weight of countless lives—pressed heavily on his mind. Was this place a fragment of that vision? Or something else entirely?
With no other options, Liang began walking toward the tower. The cursed flame flickered more steadily now, its glow intensifying as he approached the towering structure. The ground beneath him shifted subtly, the patterns rearranging themselves with each step. It was as if the very fabric of this dimension was alive, responding to his movements.
As he neared the base of the tower, Liang noticed the air around him growing denser. The hum that had filled the expanse grew louder, resolving into a rhythmic chant that seemed to emanate from the stone itself. The cursed flame flared in response, its heat coursing through his arm like a warning.
The entrance to the tower was grand and imposing, a massive archway framed by carvings of phoenixes in mid-flight. Their eyes, inlaid with shimmering gemstones, seemed to follow Liang as he stepped closer. A faint glow emanated from the archway, casting long shadows that danced along the intricate carvings.
He hesitated at the threshold, his instincts screaming caution. But the pull of the place was undeniable. Taking a deep breath, Liang stepped through the archway and into the tower.
The interior was vast, the walls lined with shelves that stretched high into the gloom. Ancient tomes and artifacts cluttered the space, their presence emanating an aura of power and mystery. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and something metallic, like heated iron. Liang's cursed flame flickered uneasily, casting erratic shadows that made the artifacts appear to move.
One object in particular drew his attention: a pedestal in the center of the room, upon which rested a crystalline orb. The orb glowed faintly, its surface swirling with colors that seemed to mimic the fiery sky outside. Liang approached it cautiously, his footsteps echoing in the stillness.
As he reached the pedestal, the cursed flame surged to life, its heat radiating through his entire body. The orb reacted in kind, its glow intensifying until it became almost blinding. Liang hesitated, his instincts torn between reaching out and stepping back.
"This place… it's testing me," he murmured. But testing what? His resolve? His connection to the cursed flame? Or something deeper?
Unable to resist the pull of the orb, Liang extended a hand. The moment his fingers brushed its surface, a surge of energy shot through him, forcing him to his knees. His vision blurred as images flooded his mind—a phoenix soaring through a sky of endless fire, its cry a mix of triumph and sorrow; a young boy standing in a circle of flames, his eyes wide with terror as the fire consumed everything around him; and finally, a figure cloaked in shadow, their outstretched hand wreathed in flames that danced with both life and destruction.
The vision ended as abruptly as it began, leaving Liang gasping for breath. The cursed flame in his palm burned brighter than ever, its chaotic energy barely contained. He stared at the orb, which now pulsed faintly, as if exhausted by the exchange.
"What does this mean?" he asked aloud, though no one was there to answer. The images had felt personal, as if they were fragments of his own memories—or perhaps a glimpse into the legacy of the cursed flame.
As he stood, his gaze fell on a nearby shelf. Among the dusty tomes and artifacts was a small, intricately carved box. Drawn to it, Liang carefully removed it from the shelf and opened it. Inside was a scroll, its parchment aged and brittle. The writing was in a script he didn't recognize, but the symbols bore a striking resemblance to those etched into the walls of the trial site.
He unrolled the scroll carefully, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar text. Though he couldn't read the words, the cursed flame pulsed rhythmically, as if resonating with the writing. Liang frowned, frustration bubbling within him. Whatever secrets this place held, they were locked behind barriers he couldn't yet overcome.
Returning the scroll to its box, Liang turned his attention back to the room. There were countless artifacts here, each one a potential clue to his origins and the nature of the cursed flame. But time was slipping away, and he couldn't afford to linger.
The rhythmic chant in the air grew louder, more insistent. Liang felt the ground beneath him tremble slightly, as if urging him to move deeper into the tower. He glanced back at the archway, now distant and shrouded in shadow. There was no turning back.
Gathering his resolve, Liang pressed on, ascending a spiraling staircase that seemed to wind endlessly upward. The cursed flame lit his way, its glow steady despite the oppressive energy that pressed against him. Each step felt heavier than the last, the air growing colder and thicker as he climbed.
At last, he emerged into a chamber at the top of the tower. The space was smaller but no less grand, dominated by a single altar at its center. Upon the altar rested a sword, its blade forged from a dark, glass-like material that seemed to drink in the light. The hilt was adorned with a single phoenix feather, its vibrant colors contrasting starkly with the blade's ominous hue.
Liang approached the altar cautiously. The cursed flame in his palm burned hotter with each step, as if reacting to the weapon's presence. When he was close enough to touch it, the air around him seemed to still, the chant that had followed him falling silent.
He reached out, his fingers brushing the hilt of the sword. The moment he made contact, a voice echoed in his mind, ancient and commanding:
"You are not like the others. Prove your worth, or be consumed."
The room darkened, and the cursed flame roared to life, its crimson light illuminating the chamber in a fiery glow. Liang's grip tightened on the sword as the ground beneath him trembled. The trial was far from over, and the answers he sought lay hidden within the flames.