Arya's body began to burn.
The moment the Flames of Chaos enveloped her again, she shrieked—high, raw, and full of terror. The air trembled with the violent crackle of black and crimson fire. Every spark hissed with hunger, every ember screamed with life.
The infernal blaze devoured everything—melting flesh, searing bone, consuming even the scent of mercy.
"Ahhhhhh! Stop! Please!" Arya's voice tore through the sky, breaking apart with each cry. Her hands clawed at her own skin as if she could tear away the pain. The flames responded like living beasts, feeding on her agony, their color deepening until even the shadows recoiled.
Alex watched.
His eyes—cold, empty, and void of compassion—reflected the writhing figure before him. Not rage. Not pleasure. Just hollow stillness. His hair swayed faintly in the updraft of heat as he stood in silence, unmoving amidst the screaming inferno.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the flames vanished.
