The sky broke like glass.
One moment, the portal pulsed with violet energy above Solstice — a shimmering eye watching the continent in silence. The next, it ruptured with a soundless shockwave. Time slowed. The air fractured. Every bird fell dead mid-flight. Every spellcaster flinched, their mana twisting in rebellion. The sun dimmed unnaturally, as if the sky itself recoiled from what came next.
From the abyss beyond the portal came the first strike.
A spear of black lightning tore downward, not aimed at the city's defenses, but at the Sunspire Tower, Solstice's arcane beacon. It exploded on impact, the tower crumbling like dried clay. Panic echoed across the city as people screamed and ran from falling debris. Magical wards flared and died.
Aira, watching from the war ramparts, snapped her wings open. Since leveling up to Lv. 45, her new Talent — Hellfire Judgement — simmered just beneath her skin. The moment the sky cracked, it surged forward like a beast unchained. Her eyes blazed molten gold.
"Brace for descent!" she shouted through the comm-stone, linked to every squad captain along the perimeter.
But no amount of warning could prepare them for what arrived.
They came not as beasts or soldiers — but as echoes. Warped reflections of creatures from across the continent, twisted into nightmarish hybrids. A ten-foot-long insect with wolf jaws. A floating mage with no face and fingers made of screaming bone. A titan with a bleeding, upside-down crown.
They fell from the sky like meteors. Where they landed, reality warped.
Structures bent. Colors bled. Some soldiers dropped dead without being touched, their minds crushed by the sheer psychic presence.
"Their aura is toxic!" Aira cried. "Mages, switch to flame shields! Archers, use essence-infused arrows only!"
The command battalions moved into action. General Ruthor, still bearing injuries from the Beast King campaign, led the front-left flank. Lysara surged ahead on her ice-forged wyvern, leading the northern watch. Healers like Lady Nirell pulled back to begin rescue operations.
Aira launched herself skyward — the epicenter of the madness.
Her Solar Wings flared behind her, sunlight struggling to push against the darkened skies. A voidling beast — one with six arms and a jagged glass mask — leapt at her midair. With a roar, she activated Hellfire Judgement for the first time.
Chains of molten fire erupted from her hands, searing through the creature mid-flight. But that wasn't all — the judgment flared wider. From the burning corpse of the first invader, infernal chains spread, wrapping around nearby enemies like sentient tendrils. Dozens were caught in their grasp, screaming in a language older than time.
Then they detonated.
A nova of crimson fire washed the sky clean in a five-hundred-meter radius. The battlefield fell silent for a breathless moment.
Below, even hardened commanders blinked in awe.
"She just… erased them," one whispered.
But Aira wasn't done.
More of the invaders descended — now coordinated. They weren't random. They were targeting high mana centers, attempting to corrupt the leylines themselves. One squad breached the inner cathedral. Another headed for the city's underground arcane vault.
Aira's warband, composed of elite fighters from every nation, moved to intercept.
"Split and counter," she barked. "Dwarf runesmiths hold the cathedral. Verdant mages collapse the tunnel entrances if needed. We can't let them take root!"
From her vantage in the sky, Aira saw something worse — a second portal forming. Smaller. Red. Rotating counter to the main rift.
A voice, ancient and jagged, echoed in her mind:
"We are the Exiled Flame. We come to reclaim what was stolen."
She clutched her head, staggering midair.
Her vision flashed — a firestorm world, long dead. Millions of voices screaming. A single throne surrounded by charred corpses. The portal was not only a gate — it was a bridge to a fallen realm of fire. A place her goddess once ruled… before it was stolen.
"Aira!" Lysara shouted, soaring up beside her. "They're breaching all fronts!"
"I saw it," Aira whispered. "They're after our fire. All of it. Our world is the last uncorrupted flame left."
The realization sank deep. These invaders didn't just want conquest. They wanted annihilation of flame itself.
And Aira was the greatest flame alive.
"I need to reach the center of the main portal," she told Lysara. "Cover the troops. Hold the lines. I'll burn a path."
Lysara hesitated. "If you fall—"
"I won't," Aira growled. "I'll take the sky with me if I have to."
---
Near the Rift — 2000 meters above Solstice
Aira soared into the thinning air, dodging projectile bolts of black magic. Around her, creatures from forgotten dimensions twisted and screeched. But none dared approach her directly now. Her aura was too bright, too intolerable to their corrupted essence.
The portal expanded.
She could see shapes inside now. Buildings? Or bones? Possibly both. A floating continent of ash.
And at its center — a figure.
Tall. Four-armed. Cloaked in red mist, with a jagged crown of flame. No face. Just void.
Its name echoed without words: Ash'tar, the Herald of Flame's End.
The Herald raised one arm, and the entire portal pulsed. Dozens of new invaders launched toward the earth.
Aira roared in defiance. Hellfire chains shot from her arms again, but this time… they didn't stop. They wrapped around her body in a spiraling dance of flame. Her hair lifted. Her solar wings burst into blazing infernos.
Her full form — Solar Hellfire Avatar — activated for the first time.
Even the Herald paused.
She dove.
Her descent was a meteor of fire and judgment. Every invader in her path turned to ash. Her flames screamed with divine vengeance.
She struck the edge of the portal with her fist.
A crack echoed across dimensions.
Inside the rift, Ash'tar hissed. The attack had reached him.
She turned back midair, energy drained but will unbroken. Her warband was still holding, but barely.
Lysara's wyvern was bleeding. Ruthor had lost his right arm. Nirell's staff had shattered.
And still they fought.
Still they burned.
Aira hovered in the sky and screamed with the voice of ever
y kingdom that still lived:
"We are not yours to claim. This world still burns — and we will light your END."