The desert split open beneath them.
Red fire and white flame collided midair, not blending—rejecting each other. The impact sent a pressure wave screaming outward, flattening dunes, ripping glassed sand into jagged shards that spun like knives. The night sky pulsed crimson and ivory, clouds tearing apart above the battlefield.
Kendrick hovered amid spiraling heat, boots skimming the air as fire carried his weight. His face was twisted now—not with confidence, but disbelief. The flames he commanded bent away from Dave's presence, curling like living things recoiling from pain.
"You're just a slave," Kendrick snarled, thrusting both hands forward as another tidal wave of red fire surged out. "You don't deserve power like this."
The fire roared.
Dave didn't move.
White flame rose instinctively, not flaring wildly but folding inward, dense and heavy. The red inferno slammed into it—and curved. Like water hitting an unseen wall, Kendrick's attack split around Dave's body, carving trenches into the desert on either side while leaving him untouched at the center.
The heat never reached him.
Dave's chest heaved. Tears evaporated before they could fall. His hands shook—not with fear, but with the effort of staying upright beneath power that felt too vast for his bones.
He looked up.
"You're wrong," he said, voice hoarse but steady. "You shouldn't underestimate the powerless."
Then he ran.
No stance. No measured breathing. No trained technique.
Just movement.
The sand exploded beneath his feet as white flame surged into his legs, launching him forward faster than sound. Kendrick barely had time to widen his eyes before Dave's fist connected.
The punch wasn't precise.
It didn't need to be.
White fire detonated on impact, swallowing Kendrick in a burst of blinding force. The Fire Twin screamed as his body was hurled backward, skipping across the desert like a stone over water before crashing through a half-melted rock formation.
He slammed into the ground hard enough to carve a crater.
For a heartbeat, there was only silence.
Then Kendrick pushed himself up, coughing smoke, eyes wild.
"…You copied me," he whispered.
Dave skidded to a stop, white flame licking his shoulders like wings that couldn't decide whether to unfold or consume him. He stared at his own hands as if seeing them for the first time.
"I didn't mean to," he said. "It just… happened."
Kendrick's fear curdled into fury.
"You think this is imitation?" he roared, standing fully now. Fire erupted violently around him, the heat so intense the air screamed. "I'll show you real power."
He slammed his palms together.
Ancient words tore from his throat—harsh, guttural syllables that vibrated with something old and hungry. The ground cracked open as fire poured out in spirals, rising higher and higher until it coiled into a colossal serpent of living flame.
Its eyes burned gold.
Its body stretched across the sky, blotting out stars.
Villages miles away felt the heat and looked up in terror as the horizon turned red.
Kendrick pointed.
"Burn to ash."
The serpent screamed and lunged.
Dave barely had time to raise his arms before the world became fire. The serpent swallowed him whole, its jaws closing with a thunderous snap. The impact flattened the dunes nearby, molten rock splashing outward like waves.
Silence followed.
Kendrick stood amid the devastation, chest rising and falling rapidly. The serpent writhed once, then stilled, its body collapsing inward as flames dissipated.
He exhaled shakily.
"…It's over."
Behind him, Mournveil stood frozen.
The darkness around him pulsed faintly, reacting—not in triumph, but tension.
The sand beneath the serpent began to glow.
A crack appeared.
Then another.
A sound echoed from within—low, rising, furious.
The serpent convulsed.
White light burst through its body in jagged lines, splitting it open from the inside. Kendrick staggered back as the serpent detonated, its massive form ripped apart by searing white fire.
From the explosion emerged shapes.
Dragons.
Not formed of flame as Kendrick knew it—but white, blinding, silent. Their wings spread wide, tearing through the night sky as they screeched without sound, pure destruction given form.
At their center stood Dave.
White flame cloaked him completely now, shaping itself into massive wings that beat once, scattering molten debris like rain. His hair was singed and streaked pale, his skin glowing faintly beneath the heat.
He hovered.
Eyes locked on Kendrick.
"What are you…?" Kendrick breathed.
Dave looked down at his hands again. The flame responded, surging higher.
"I don't know," he said. "But I'm a copy of your worst nightmare."
He dropped.
The impact of his landing sent a shockwave racing across the battlefield, the ground shattering outward in a perfect circle. Dave didn't stop moving—he charged.
Punch.
White flame detonated against Kendrick's guard, blasting him backward.
Kick.
The force sent Kendrick skidding sideways through the air, flames spiraling wildly as he struggled to regain control.
There was no rhythm to Dave's attacks.
No pattern.
Just desperation and rage.
He swung again and again, white fire roaring with each strike. Kendrick countered with waves of red flame, their powers colliding violently, each impact tearing another wound into the desert.
Red versus white.
Every clash lit the sky like a dying sun.
Kendrick snarled, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he forced Dave back with a concentrated blast. "What are you?" he demanded.
Dave wiped his face, knuckles burning, breath ragged.
"I don't know," he repeated.
Then he surged forward again.
Their fists collided midair, power screaming as the shockwave blasted outward. Sand, glass, and fire were thrown skyward in a storm of destruction.
Behind them, Mournveil watched in silence.
Darkness coiled tightly around him—not attacking, not intervening.
Waiting.
The desert trembled.
And somewhere far away, forces far older than either of them felt the world shift.
Power had returned.
And it was learning how to scream.