Somewhere on a world called Earth, tucked in a noisy city that never quite fell asleep, there stood a college where dreams, caffeine addictions, and existential crises thrived. In one particular classroom on the third floor, amidst the drone of a bored professor, sat Damien Cross—a 19-year-old chaos incarnate.
Damien, slouched at his desk with the posture of a rebellious cat, was not paying attention. He was too busy devouring a bag of flaming hot chips, crunch echoing obnoxiously through the quiet room. His medium-length black hair fell messily over one eye, and golden flecks shimmered within his otherwise dark brown irises. He didn't give a damn about the lecture. The only thing on his mind was how perfectly spicy these chips were.
With one leg crossed over the other and a crumpled snack bag resting on his lap like a sacred scroll, Damien tossed a chip into his mouth and chewed with exaggerated pleasure.
"Mmm... that burn. It's like kissing a volcano," he muttered, eyes half-lidded.
"Mr. Cross," the teacher's voice snapped like a whip across the classroom.
Damien didn't even glance up. Crunch. Crunch.
"Damien Cross! Are you seriously eating chips in my classroom? Again?"
The classroom went quiet. A few students turned in their seats, already hiding smiles. This was a familiar performance.
"You're supposed to be writing an essay on sociopolitical revolutions, not celebrating a culinary one!"
Damien held up a finger while still chewing. "Five more minutes. I'm reaching transcendence."
"Put down the snacks and listen! You're disrupting the class!"
Damien finally looked up, chip dust on his fingers, lips slightly orange. He grinned.
"Look, Professor Tension Issues, I'm doing you a favor. If I don't finish these, I'll get cranky. And trust me... nobody wants that."
Laughter erupted like a dam breaking.
"God, he's so annoying," a girl muttered while still laughing.
"I swear he lives for this."
"Honestly, it's kinda impressive."
"Why do I hate him and want to be him?"
The teacher's face darkened. "You think this is a joke? This is college! This is your future!"
"Exactly," Damien said, popping another chip. "And my future tastes like cayenne and glory."
The teacher looked ready to combust. He stomped forward. "You have exactly ten seconds to put away those chips before I give you detention."
Damien raised an eyebrow, slowly lowering the bag... then raised it again and crunched louder.
"Ten seconds? Better eat faster then."
More laughter. A few students were wiping tears.
"He's a menace."
"A snack-fueled menace."
"Legend."
"Trainwreck."
Just as the teacher inhaled to unleash another tirade—
Brrrrring!
The bell rang like divine intervention.
Damien looked around with mock surprise. "Oh look. Saved by the bell. Literally."
"Class dismissed!" the teacher snapped. "Go home! All of you! And you, Damien Cross—" he pointed furiously "—get your act together or you'll flunk this class!"
Students stood up, chairs scraping, conversations bursting into life.
"Wanna go to that new ramen place?"
"Gaming night. Don't wait up."
"Nap time. Eternal nap time."
Damien casually grabbed his backpack, swinging it over one shoulder. He looked back at the professor and winked. "Thanks for the entertainment. See ya tomorrow, Teach."
He walked out to the sound of the professor groaning and students laughing.
Outside, the sky was a lazy gold, dipped in hints of crimson. Damien walked down the street, half-empty bag of chips in hand.
"Man, these are too good. They taste like sin and regret. Which is exactly how I like my snacks."
He bit into one. "Mmm. Yep. Still a masterpiece."
As he passed the bakery, the scent of fresh bread mixed with car fumes and city grit. "Tempting," he muttered. "But I'm loyal to my spice."
Moments later, he reached the corner store. The bell jingled above the door.
"Yo, Uncle Jin!"
Behind the counter, the elderly shop owner looked up, chuckling. "Damien Cross. Here to empty my shelves again?"
"You know it. Got my sacred snacks in stock?"
"Third shelf on the right. But you're cleaning me out, kid. Been buying those since you were, what, eight?"
"Seven and a half," Damien corrected with a grin. "And you've been enabling me ever since."
"Don't remind me. You were that weird little rascal who'd come in and steal the spicy noodles when I wasn't looking."
"Borrowed," Damien said. "I always paid you back. Eventually."
"I should start charging you rent for that shelf," Jin said, shaking his head.
"I practically own it by now," Damien shot back. "It's my sacred shrine."
"One day, you're going to explode from all that spice."
"And when I do, I want it to be glorious. Like a fireworks show."
"You're hopeless, kid," Jin said with a chuckle.
Damien grabbed four bags and dropped money on the counter. "Thanks, old man. You're keeping my soul alive."
"Anytime, brat."
As he walked home, he passed the park. Children laughed, throwing a ball.
"Catch it!"
"You suck at throwing!"
"I do not!"
Damien smirked, watching. "Ah, to be young, dumb, and not flammable."
Then, it happened.
The ball bounced into the road.
A small kid ran after it.
A truck—blazing fast, barreling down the street.
Time slowed.
Damien's body moved before his mind caught up.
"No. No. Not on my watch."
He sprinted, heart hammering. "Come on, come on, I can make it. Faster."
He dove forward.
"MOVE!"
He shoved the kid aside.
The truck slammed into him.
Everything went white.
Pain. Impact. Then... nothing.
Damien's eyes opened slowly.
Blackness.
He was lying on his back. No sky. No ground. Just... void.
"Wha... where am I?"
He sat up. The silence pressed against his ears.
Then a memory, searing through the fog.
"The kid. Truck. I... I saved him."
Realization dawned.
"I died. Holy crap. I actually died."
He stood, fists clenched. His temper rose like magma.
"HELLO?! IS THIS THE AFTERLIFE?! YOU BETTER HAVE SNACKS!"
His voice echoed endlessly.
Then a voice answered.
"Well, well... what do we have here?"
Damien spun around. "Who's there?! Show yourself!"
The ground beneath his feet trembled.
Red cracks formed, glowing.
He stumbled. "Okay, what the hell is going on now?"
The cracks expanded, spiderwebbing through the floorless void beneath him.
"Is this supposed to happen? I don't remember voids doing this."
Little red lights began to glow from the cracks, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"Okay, yeah, that looks bad. That looks super bad. Why is it glowing like that? Is this a countdown to something exploding?!"
The light intensified.
Damien tried to move, but the shaking grew worse. He staggered, arms flailing for balance.
"Nope. Nope. I didn't sign up for this part!"
Then, suddenly—
FWOOSH!
Fire erupted from the ground, flames surging upward all around him in massive, towering plumes. The red light beneath his feet blazed.
"OH HELL NO!" Damien shouted, throwing his arms up instinctively and closing his eyes. "Don't you dare vaporize me again!"
He braced.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Nothing.
The heat was intense, but it didn't hurt.
He cracked open an eye.
And everything... changed.
Gone was the black void.
In its place stretched a vast, surreal realm of fire and beauty. Rolling lava fields glowed like molten rivers beneath translucent bridges of obsidian. The mountains in the distance pulsed with light from their fiery cores.
He turned slowly, drinking in the sight. Above him, the sky was a rich, flaming red, glowing as if it were alive. Scattered across the heavens were massive, glowing planets—some cracked and dripping fire, others swirling with golden storms. Stars shimmered like embers, and every breeze carried warmth and magic.
"What... the hell is this place?" Damien whispered.
He took a step forward. The ground was solid, warm, and alive with magical energy. "This was not on the afterlife brochure."
His eyes widened as fire danced like spirits across the horizon. It wasn't hell. It was... beautiful. Majestic. Dangerous.
"So I go from black nothingness... to the cover of a fantasy metal album?"
He slowly turned in place, awe taking over. "This place... it's insane. It's alive."
Then came the voice.
"Welcome to my world, Damien Cross."
He turned slowly.
A throne of obsidian and flame. A staircase of molten glass.
And at the top, she sat.
The woman was unreal. Living flame for hair, eyes of molten sun, body sculpted by divine chaos. She radiated heat, beauty, and destruction.
Her voice wrapped around him like velvet dipped in lava.
"Hello, my little flame. I am Ignara Vermilion. Goddess of Fire."
Damien stared.
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
Damien was still frozen where he stood, his breath caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. He stared at the being before him—no, not just a being. A goddess.
The Goddess of Fire.
His mind struggled to catch up.
"What the hell is this place?!" Damien's thoughts raced, spinning into something almost theatrical in their drama. "This… burning sky? This firestorm of beauty? And why—why am I talking to a goddess of all things? Am I hallucinating? Did I actually get hit that hard?! What does she mean I wished for this?!"
The woman—no, Ignara, the goddess—giggled softly, the sound like crackling embers and warm laughter rolled into one.
"No, this is real, my little flame," she said.
Damien jolted. "She heard that?! What—how did she know—?!"
Still shocked and slightly annoyed, tinged with fear, Damien finally managed, "Why am I here? Are you really... the Fire Goddess?"
Ignara giggled again, stepping lightly down the molten staircase, the flames flaring with each graceful movement. "You're adorable when you're confused. And yes, Damien Cross. I am the Goddess of Fire."
Her voice turned soft, admiring. "And I saw what you did. That selfless moment, throwing yourself in front of a speeding truck to save a child. That kind of bravery… it impresses even me."
Damien's expression darkened. His eyes narrowed, the pain surfacing. "I did that because—"
But before he could finish, Ignara's smile shifted. It became deeper. Warmer. Sadder.
"You saved that child," she said gently, "because you couldn't bear the thought of another mother weeping... the way yours did. When you stood by her hospital bed, helpless, as she faded."
Damien froze.
The air around him stopped.
His thoughts emptied.
"H-How... how did you know that?" he stammered.
Ignara stepped forward, her gaze burning gently. "I've been watching you for a long time, Damien. I saw what ate away at you since then. Your mother's death—it shattered something inside. That's when your fights started. Your temper. Your rage. You were a flame with no direction."
His fists clenched. His voice trembled.
"I couldn't do anything... I just stood there. While my mother... while she... I was weak!"
The flames around Ignara responded to his rage, surging in a fiery halo.
But her voice remained soft. "It's going to be alright."
Damien snapped.
Eyes glowing faintly, rage bursting from beneath the grief.
"HOW?! I'm dead! She's gone! How the hell is any of this alright?!"
Ignara didn't flinch. She descended the last step, fire rising with each graceful movement.
"Because this," she said calmly, "is your second chance."
His mind fractured under the weight of her words.
"A second life? Power? What does that mean? Why me? Why now?!"
Ignara smiled. "Because I won't let you suffer powerlessly again. In the next world, you'll have strength—strength to change fates... and stop others from dying the way she did. No more helplessness. Only fire."
Damien stared, his jaw slightly slack. "...She's serious. She's really giving me a new life. And power...?"
Then she stepped closer.
In a blink, she was right in front of him.
And Damien's brain short-circuited.
"Oh crap she's close she's really close oh god she smells like cinnamon and fire and molten sugar or something WHY IS SHE SO HOT—not just temperature-hot I mean everything-hot like damn those legs that dress and holy hell that chest…"
His face flushed, and he tried not to look down, tried to keep eye contact, but Ignara's very presence overwhelmed him.
"How is this legal? Is this a divine test?! I am so failing this!"
He staggered back half a step, heart racing faster than his thoughts could keep up.
"Don't panic. Just don't stare. Focus on the eyes. Her eyes, Damien! Not her goddess-tier... proportions."
Ignara smiled softly at his reaction, clearly amused, yet saying nothing. Her steps were unhurried, filled with timeless grace.
Then—gently, she raised both hands.
And cupped his face.
His breath caught.
"Her hands… they're hot, but not burning. It's like... warmth I forgot I needed."
Their eyes locked. Her gaze burned with galaxies of flame. His shimmered with raw pain... and a flicker of hope.
"Damien Cross," she whispered, "I now send you to a new world. And with you, I give not fire... but the origin of it."
His eyes widened. "Origin...? Wait—what—what does that mean—?!"
Ignara's lips curved. "It means you will be reborn. In a world not like this one—filled with monsters, magic, swords, and sorcery. A world that needs a spark."
"Reborn...? Another world... a second life? Me—starting over?"
His eyes dropped, flickering with emotion.
"To live again... without regrets? Without failure? Without that helplessness...?" he whispered.
He looked back at her. "You're saying... I get to live again? Start from zero?"
"Yes," Ignara said. "And this time, you'll have the power to change things. To burn through fear, through loss. To protect. And to fight."
He held his breath.
"The power of fire... but not just normal fire. Something ancient. Something divine. Is this really happening?"
Ignara stepped forward and raised one hand.
From her fingers bloomed a golden ember—a miniature sun, pulsing with life.
"You will become an Overpowered Fire Mage. Even at Level 1, your flame will be unmatched. Your magic will not run dry. And your fiery temper? It will fuel your strength."
Damien's eyes went wide.
"An... Overpowered Fire Mage? At level 1?! Infinite fire magic? And my temper actually makes me stronger?!"
He said aloud, "This... this isn't magic. This is madness."
Ignara laughed softly. "So, Damien... what do you think? Will you like this new life? This overwhelming firepower?"
Damien went quiet.
He stared at her.
At the fire orb.
At the potential of it all.
Then, slowly, his lips parted.
"Yes," he said firmly. "I want it. I want to live again. I want to burn brighter than ever."
Ignara's smile widened. "Good. Then let me show you what it means... to receive not fire... but the Origin of Fire."
Her flame-colored hair flowed like liquid magma. The void pulsed with ancient heat.
Ignara lifted her hands.
The space between them quaked—vibrating with pressure.
BOOOOM!
Suddenly, light exploded between her palms. Fire, light, and something older than time burst outward. Space itself seemed to bend. Stars bent around her fingers.
From her palms, a sphere began to form—no larger than an apple, but blazing with power. It wasn't just a spell. It was an idea given form. A force that predated existence.
It pulsed. One beat... two.
"It's not just fire," Damien thought. "It's the idea of flame. The origin of combustion. Of anger. Of passion. Of life."
It glowed gold-red, molten veins swirling within. Embers spun around it like miniature planets caught in orbit. Its heartbeat echoed across the void. Each pulse was the cry of a star being born.
Damien took a step back, mouth dry. "That thing... it's alive. It's looking at me."
Ignara held it reverently. She didn't ask. She simply pressed the core—directly into his chest.
The moment it touched him—
BOOOOOOOOOOM!
A shockwave erupted from his body. Pure fire aura burst in rings. The ground shattered beneath his feet. The sky warped.
Damien's body lifted off the ground, eyes wide, limbs splayed.
His veins lit up, glowing orange-red beneath his skin, like molten iron.
Runes carved by divine will spiraled across his chest, arms, and shoulders—branding him as Flameborn.
His mouth opened—a scream, or a roar—but only light came out. No sound. Just blinding, unrelenting light.
The power flooded in.
His spine arched. Hair burst upward, flickering like torchlight in a storm.
Divine fire coursed through him like molten lightning.
BOOM. His heartbeat slowed.
BOOM. It slammed again, louder, deeper. Echoing across realms.
Every emotion he had ever buried—
Grief. Rage. Love. Shame. Hope.
—all ignited in unison.
The Core pulsed again.
BOOM. BOOM.
It matched his breath.
Ignara watched him, smiling gently. "Now you carry it, Damien. The Crimson Soul Core. Your fire will never run dry. And when you rage… the world will remember your name."
The final pulse echoed.
Damien floated, suspended midair, body glowing like a newborn sun.
The Core had fused into him. A subtle glow now lived beneath his sternum, a heartbeat made of living magma.
The firestorm around him began to fade. The sky still blazed, but the inferno's crescendo had passed.
And then—
The flames vanished.
Gravity reclaimed him.
Damien dropped.
He hit the ground hard, landing on one knee.
Panting. Trembling.
Heart pounding like a war drum.
He knelt there, surrounded by silence and air still shimmering from heat.
His chest no longer burned... but glowed from within.
Thin, golden-red lines etched down his arms like living tattoos. They faded slowly from white-hot to ember-orange.
Damien looked down at his hands. They weren't the same.
Not completely.
His fingers were lean but defined now, the bones wrapped in firm muscle and sinew, glowing subtly with internal heat. The skin was darker than before—bronzed, sun-kissed, yet touched by a divine fire that had not scalded but shaped.
His hair had darkened, now a rich jet-black, short and tousled in defiant strands—with deep red tips that smoldered faintly when his heartbeat spiked. A few uneven locks curled naturally across his forehead, lending a rebellious charm that felt… earned.
His eyes—once dull—now shone molten amber-gold, glowing faintly at the edges, like banked embers always on the verge of reignition. Sharp. Observant. And burning with something between grief and new purpose.
His jawline had become more defined, his face framed by heat-tempered determination. There was no mistaking it: this was no longer a broken boy.
He didn't just look different.
He looked forged.
"This... this is me?" Damien thought, stunned.
He took one breath—and heat swirled from his lips like mist.
He now stood at a lean 5'10", his posture balanced, not rigid but ready. His frame was toned, agile, a spell duelist's build—made for movement and precision. Every part of him hummed with magic, with will. There was no waste in his form. No weakness. Only intention—shaped by divine fire and rebirth.
He rolled his shoulders. Even that simple motion felt like coiled fire about to snap loose. The weight of his limbs was different now, like they remembered battle he hadn't fought yet. His steps felt deliberate, his balance perfect, like gravity itself acknowledged the change in him.
His arms—he saw now—were marked with runic tattoos, glowing softly with ember-orange firelight. They pulsed with the same rhythm as his heart, tracking down from his shoulders to his forearms, arcane veins of flame. The runes shifted subtly when he flexed his hands, the symbols dancing like firelight caught in motion.
The sensation wasn't just physical.
It was spiritual.
Damien could feel the power embedded into every fiber of his being. A resonance humming from his skin down to his very bones.
Ignara hadn't just remade him.
She had dressed him in destiny.
From head to toe, his outfit was a masterpiece of function and flare. A warlock's elegance. A warrior's readiness.
The Jacket — Woven by the Goddess Herself.
It hung from his shoulders with both weight and purpose. Not heavy—never heavy—but present, like it belonged to him, like it had always waited for this moment to awaken.
The outer layer was deep obsidian black, textured like liquid metal forged from the heart of a volcano. The longer he stared, the more he saw it shimmer faintly with movement—a flowing pulse just beneath the fabric, as if the coat itself breathed flame.
A rich crimson inner lining, visible only in the sweeping folds, glowed subtly like cooled magma veins, alive but restrained. The jacket's hem and shoulders were laced in flame embroidery so finely threaded, the golden-orange arcs shifted and flickered like actual fire caught in a windless dance.
At his back, just between the shoulder blades, the sigil of Ignara had been stitched in ember-thread—a radiant, spiraling flame crown wrapped around a blazing sunburst. Her divine seal. Her mark.
The collar was high-cut, regal, with silver clasps at his throat and cuffs—each one engraved with celestial glyphs in a language he didn't understand, but somehow felt in his blood.
The cuffs shifted when he flexed his wrists, designed to snap open with a flick and channel spellfire through his palms.
Function met beauty, and the result was armor that could walk a battlefield or a throne room without shame.
Beneath the coat, his chest was hugged by a tight-fit sleeveless black undershirt, runed at the seams. The fabric wasn't just fire-resistant—it drank heat, redirecting it like a conduit. The more heat Damien absorbed, the stronger it pulsed.
Running from both shoulders and spiraling down to his wrists were arcane fire sigils, glowing in perfect unison with the steady thump of his heart. They pulsed with the same rhythm—flame-veins, alive, fierce, and sacred.
The first time he noticed them shift? Was when he clenched his fists.
The tattoos rippled.
Like fire waking up.
His pants were made of matte-black combat weave, light and quiet, but sturdy. Twin crimson stripes ran down the sides—each one threaded with arcane piping, both stylish and functional. They were stitched to allow complete flexibility—he could sprint, flip, or strike without restriction.
Utility straps lined his thighs, each one clipped with compact spell-scroll holsters and quick-access pockets. Fireproof. Enchanted. Every buckle clicked with a whisper of heat.
His boots, sleek and reinforced, were tucked just beneath—black leather hybridized with fire-resistant hide, reinforced by mana-reactive soles that hummed faintly with every step. They responded to his movements like they knew his intent.
If he willed it, they could boost his speed, allow fire-skimming across molten terrain, or even grip sheer cliffs.
His gloves—fingerless, tight, and crafted from black leather—were etched with ruby-colored crystal nodes on each knuckle. When he flexed his hands, the gems flickered. When he tightened his fists, they sparked. Not a decoration. A threat. A weapon.
If he punched someone, it would hurt. And then it would burn.
Strapped to his waist was a slim red belt, enchanted and threaded with sealed flame tags, ready for on-the-fly casting or last-resort surges. The glyphs glowed gently, and Damien instinctively knew what each one meant.
Attached to his hip was a small, flameproof leather satchel—an unassuming pouch that held spell vials, rations, and a single worn photo.
The photo of his mother.
Faded around the edges. Smudged with ash. Still precious.
The only piece of his past that had survived with him.
Ignara hadn't just remade him.
She had anointed him with purpose.
From head to toe, his outfit was a masterpiece of function and flare—combat-ready, divine-coded, and aesthetically flawless. A fire mage's crown, carved into cloth.
He touched the edge of his jacket sleeve. It was warm—not burning, but pulsing. Like it recognized him. Like it was welcoming him home.
"This isn't just a coat..." Damien thought, awestruck. "It's a second skin. A warning. A promise."
He looked up, flames flickering in his eyes, lips set in solemn fire-forged resolve.
And for the first time since his mother's death, Damien Cross stood tall—cloaked not in pain, but in power.
The Goddess of Fire, Ignara, stood at the edge of her flame-swept throne, eyes locked onto Damien as he knelt amidst the still-glowing remnants of his divine transformation. Her expression—equal parts pride and something deeper, something warmer—softened as she watched the ember glow fade gently from his skin.
She whispered, voice like velvet smoke, "To witness your awakening, my little flame... it stirs even my ancient soul. The way you embraced the fire, the way it responded to you... You're everything I hoped you'd become."
Damien rose slowly from the obsidian stone beneath him. His breath was steady, yet every inhale felt like breathing heat and power itself. His body pulsed with life—divine, magical, explosive life. He looked down at his hands once more, and even now, they glowed faintly with soft ember light.
He clenched a fist.
He could feel it. The power. The fire. The unstoppable current of flame that now lived within his very blood.
Ignara smiled as she took a few steps toward him, her divine heels sparking gently against the molten glass beneath her. "How do you feel, my little flame?"
Damien looked up at her. His golden ember-lit eyes shimmered.
He exhaled slowly, and smoke curled from his lips.
"I feel... alive. Powerful. Like there's a sun burning inside my chest, and it's waiting to be unleashed."
He lifted his right hand, stared at it for a moment—and then casually snapped his fingers.
FWOOSH!
A tiny but vibrant flame burst into life at the tip of his finger. He smirked.
With a slow flick of his wrist, he made the fire dance—spinning it like a ribbon, looping it in spirals through the air. Then he split it into five orbs, juggling them with lazy grace.
He tossed one high into the sky, then reached up, and with a snap of his fingers, turned it into a miniature phoenix that spun once around his head before vanishing in a puff of harmless smoke.
Ignara burst out laughing.
Her laugh was like a heatwave and thunderclap all at once.
She clapped her hands slowly, watching him play. "Look at you... already acting like a flame-born trickster. You've taken to your gift like wildfire to dry forest. You are truly my little flame."
Damien gave her a cocky grin and blew a small puff of fire across his fingers before extinguishing the last of his juggling flames. "Guess it just feels right. Like this was always inside me. I just... never knew how to let it out until now."
He turned his gaze inward, closing his eyes briefly.
Inside, he could feel the fire swirling—not chaotic, but alive. Ready. Wanting to move. It wasn't just an element anymore. It was a part of him. His rage. His pain. His joy. All of it translated into heat, magic, power.
He opened his eyes and whispered, more to himself than anyone, "It's like I was asleep before... but now, I'm burning wide awake."
Ignara nodded slowly, her smile tempered by reverence. "Then you're ready."
Damien turned toward her, a flicker of curiosity flashing through the fire in his eyes.
"Before I go," he said, "what kind of magic system does this new world use? I should probably know what I'm diving into."
Ignara smiled, intrigued by the question. "Ah... curious already. Good. Magic in the world you're going to isn't as primitive as you might expect. It's layered, complex, and wildly volatile."
She raised a hand, flames coiling around her fingers as a holographic diagram appeared in the air.
"There are five primary branches of magic in the world of Veyruun—Elemental, Arcane, Spirit, Blood, and Divine. Each with its own paths, schools, and secrets."
"Elemental is the most common—fire, water, wind, earth. But fire... true fire like yours... belongs to the Origin tier. The world has never seen it before."
She smirked. "Most mages use mana pools that deplete over time. They're bound by exhaustion, cooldowns, and mental strain. But you? Your flame is self-sustaining. Fed by your will, your fury, your passion."
Damien blinked. "So I don't run out of magic?"
"Correct," Ignara replied. "The Crimson Soul Core absorbs ambient energy, converting it into flame. You grow stronger the more chaos you're in. The more you fight, the hotter you burn."
"...That's actually kind of terrifying," Damien muttered.
Ignara smiled wider. "To your enemies? Absolutely."
He nodded slowly, absorbing the information. Then looked back at her.
"Alright... what's the name of this world I'm going to?"
"The world is called Veyruun," Ignara said, her voice reverent. "A realm brimming with ancient ruins, wandering beasts, tyrant kings, and hidden gods. Its skies are wild. Its land is fractured. Magic flows like blood through the veins of the planet—but it's unstable, hungry for power... for someone like you."
"Sounds like fun," Damien said dryly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Ignara stepped closer, her aura flaring with soft crimson.
"Good," she said. "Then I will see you around, my little flame."
Damien nodded. "See you around, Goddess."
She raised her hand—crimson aura spilling from her palm. The air shimmered.
A massive magic circle ignited beneath Damien's feet, pulsing with divine runes and crackling with golden flame.
Light consumed him.
As his form began to fade, Damien looked at her one last time.
Ignara whispered, her voice trembling with emotion, "Make the world yours... and show them how bright you are, my little flame."
FLASH.
He vanished.
Ignara stood in silence, the glow of the magic circle slowly fading beneath her.
A few minutes later, a ripple of heat shimmered through a quiet forest.
A swirling magic circle flared to life near a sun-dappled clearing. Birds scattered. Leaves rustled from the invisible pulse.
Then—
BOOM.
Damien appeared in a sudden burst of flame and light, crouched in the center of the circle.
The glyphs around his feet pulsed once more, then fizzled out.
He stood slowly, brushing himself off.
Sunlight poured through a lush green canopy overhead. The trees stretched tall and wild, ancient and covered in flowering vines. Shafts of light pierced through the branches, dancing across the mossy forest floor.
The wind carried the scent of pine, dew, and blooming wildflowers. A distant waterfall roared somewhere off to the left. Birds chirped cautiously, and insects buzzed near clusters of glowing mushrooms.
Damien turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.
"Alright... Veyruun. You're a lot greener than I expected."
He cracked his neck, flexed his fingers, and let a small flame ignite in his palm.
He watched it dance for a moment, then snuffed it with a thought.
He adjusted the cuffs on his jacket, set his shoulders, and looked down the path ahead.
"Let's begin my new adventure."
His voice echoed slightly through the forest.
And with fire in his veins and a smirk on his lips, Damien walked forward, the trees parting as if to welcome the storm.
Damien walked deeper into the forest, the sunlight breaking through the tall trees in golden shafts that danced along the forest floor. The scent of damp earth, pine, and moss filled his nose. Birds chirped above, and occasionally he'd hear the rustle of distant creatures. Every step was steady, measured—but filled with energy he hadn't known just hours ago.
As he walked, he muttered to himself, "Okay... new world. New me. Overpowered flame magic in my veins... what now?"
He glanced down at his hands, still feeling the faint thrum of divine heat beneath his skin.
"Back when I was a kid, I used to read tons of manga like this," he said aloud, half-laughing. "You know, some OP protagonist ends up in another world, yells 'open status,' and boom—RPG screen in the air."
He rubbed the back of his neck, grinning to himself. "Guess it wouldn't hurt to try, right?"
Then, half-sarcastically, he mumbled, "Open status."
FWOOM.
A fiery crimson interface exploded to life before him. It hovered midair, flickering with embers at the corners. Glowing golden-orange text pulsed gently, welcoming him like an old friend.
"Wait... what the hell? IT ACTUALLY WORKED?!" Damien blinked, staring in awe as the information filled his vision.
[STATUS SCREEN]
Name: Damien Cross
Age: 17
Race: Human (Reincarnated, Flame-Blessed)
Level: 1
Class: Overpowered Fire Mage
Titles:
Flame Sovereign's Chosen
Reincarnated Hero
Walking Inferno
The Fire Menace
First of the Crimson Core
Health Points (HP): 980 / 980
Magic Points (MP): ∞
Strength: 94
Agility: 101
Endurance: 120
Mana: ∞
Luck: 87
Charm: 93
NORMAL SKILLS
Fire Resistance EX – Immune to all forms of heat, lava, explosions, and spicy curry.
Flame Affinity (MAX) – All fire-based spells are stronger, faster, and flashier.
Thermal Vision – See heat through walls, fog, and lies.
Appraisal (MAX) – See stats, titles, mood, and allergies of enemies.
Language Comprehension (Divine) – Understands all tongues, including ancient drama.
Survival Instinct – Knows which way not to walk. Usually.
Danger Sense – Damien's eyes flash when something stupid is about to happen.
Basic Martial Training – All punches can be set on fire.
Pain Resistance (Advanced) – Still feels things, just doesn't care.
Blaze-Blooded Body – +15% resistance to ice, curses, cringe magic.
ABILITY SKILLS
Pyrograsp – Grabs and overloads objects/spells with fire.
Blazewind Traversal – Flame-boosted speed bursts; faster than horses.
Infernal Pressure (Passive) – Aura stuns weaker enemies automatically.
Burning Rage (Passive) – Anger boosts STR, MAG, AGI.
Flashflare Strike – Charges fist with explosive fire (enemy-launcher).
Overheat Pulse – Emits an AoE burst when overcast.
Heatstep Teleport – Short-range flame jump.
Internal Combustion Surge – Explodes out of bindings, paralysis, or seals.
FIRE MAGIC SKILLS
Fireball EX – 10-meter blast. Looks cool. Explodes louder than it should.
Flame Wall – Rotating fire ring that blocks arrows, idiots, and cold breezes.
Dragon's Breath – 180° flame cone. Triggered with "FLAME ROAR!!" for extra drama.
Pyroclasm Cage – Traps a target in flaming chains. Smells like BBQ.
Living Flame Serpents – Flame snakes with tracking. Explode on contact.
Pyroform – Transforms body into living fire for short durations.
Blazing Spear Barrage – Rain of fire spears in a 30m radius. Visuals: Stunning. Damage: Overkill.
Heat Nova – Area pulse of pressure and heat. Melts metal, cracks bones, toasts marshmallows.
UNIQUE SKILLS
Crimson Soul Core (Passive) – Infinite MP, Flame Immunity, Emotion-scaled power.
Origin of Fire (Hybrid) – Fire magic cannot be blocked, sealed, or negated.
Wrath Surge – All fire magic x2 power for 10s after emotional spike.
Ember Rebirth (Once/Day) – Revive with 25% HP via self-detonation.
Flame Sovereign's Will – Control, absorb, or cancel all non-divine flame.
Flame Clone – 10s mimic clone. Casts what Damien casts.
WEAPON
Infernal Embrand – Goddess-Forged Relic
Type: Wand/Dagger Hybrid
Can channel spells or slash through barriers. Ignites into a full flameblade on command. Glows when fire magic is active.
Damien whistled, impressed.
"Okay... yeah, this is absurd. Infinite mana? Resistance to cringe magic? I literally have a spell that toasts marshmallows?"
He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.
"And what's this? 'Triggered with FLAME ROAR!!' for extra drama? Who designed this, a bored manga author with a flamethrower fetish?"
Still grinning, he closed the status screen with a swipe.
The flames dissipated gently into the air.
He adjusted his jacket, rolling his shoulders. He felt unstoppable. Not invincible... but close.
"Alright, world," Damien muttered, smirking as he glanced deeper into the forest. "Let's see what kind of chaos you've got for me."
The forest stretched ahead, sun dappling the path, the breeze whispering secrets through the leaves. He moved forward, boots crunching over pine needles and fallen twigs, each step lighting tiny embers beneath his feet.
His adventure had truly begun.
To be continued...