They chained him.
This time, tighter.Twelve anchors.Each blessed by a different god.
Didn't matter.
Tarn didn't struggle.
He just stared at the floor. Silent.
The Marakai chieftain was still coughing blood in the medic halls.
The gods were furious.
The arena was ruined.
The people? Split.
Some called Tarn a beast.Others… a symbol.
The Council didn't waste time.
He was brought into the high sanctum.Not the trial chamber.
This place was older.
Darker.
Carved into the bones of the floating island itself.
Pillars of obsidian. Walls with no echo.
The golden-skinned god sat alone this time.
No council. No fanfare.
"You've become a problem."
Tarn looked up. His eyes still burned faint red.
"You've been one longer."
The god leaned forward.
"You've tainted the spark we gave you."
"No," Tarn whispered. "You gave me nothing. The fire? That was always mine."
"Then burn with it."
The floor opened.
Tarn dropped.
Chained. Bound. Falling.
Straight into the lowest chamber.
The Hollow Furnace.
A place made for execution.
A prison that eats divine energy.
They thought it would snuff him out.
They thought wrong.
Tarn hit the floor with a crash.
Dark. Hot. No sound but his breath.
Then—
a whisper.
No language. Just… feeling.
Like a hand reaching into his chest.
His eyes widened.
The flame in him pulsed.
Then flared.
Red to black.
His body rose from the ground.
Chains cracked. Slowly.
The whisper grew louder.
A voice—not god, not man.
Something older.
"You burn for revenge…"
"I do."
"Then take more. Go deeper. I will feed your wrath. But you must accept what it costs."
Tarn clenched his fists.
"I've already lost everything."
The chains snapped.
He stood.
The furnace began to quake.
The walls melted.
And from the ashes—Tarn walked out.
Eyes black.
Veins glowing red.
And behind him, in the smoke… something watched.