Surrounded by the searing sea of fire, the fierce heat lurked beneath his skin. The endless sweats and tears evaporated upon fall. Kindles sparked his tattered bandages as each swayed against the blazing gusts. Blood filled the vessels in his eyes.

“Weaponized,” Lace said, his blood leaked from the edges of his lips as he gritted.

Visible white veins crawled through his right arm. Snowy clouds whirled around his limb, ejected from the pores of his skin. Hardened and cold, a partial arm armour shined underneath the sizzling smokes with patterns of the ancients. Engraved with an insignia, revealing a phantom spear tangled within climbing roses.

Spectral fauna intertwined the metal bar with throbbing thorns, resonating with the beating of Lace’s heart. Crackled and dispersed, a coat of blue sky hue enveloped the bar. Turning it into a spear of mana, humming a subtle tune to his ears.

“It felt… weak,” 101 commented with concern.

“That spear.” Vulkan eyed Lace’s weapon carefully before he snickered, “There’s barely any mana from that damned weapon! And you dare to stand against the god of fire—”

Glinting in blue, the tip of the spear drive forward within Vulkan’s sight. The young man who had bled a river was still capable of such movement.

“Insolent fool,” Vulkan huffed and quickly swung his warhammer up to the skies.

The weapons clashed and sparked. The warhammer deflected the spear by far superior weight, which staggered Lace’s newbie wielding hand.

“Too heavy…” Lace muttered, the numbness running through his feeble right arm.

He was on his knees, panting ever since the beginning, as he gazed at Vulkan in between the gaps of his sweaty hair bangs. He knew there were little to no chances of winning. The differences in strength and experience were as clear as night and day, but the insult towards his father and the death of the mister stirred the deep hatred of his humble heart.

Vulcan’s muscles bulked up as he took a quaking step, he brought down his flaming warhammer with momentum.

“Use your armour!” 101 yelled, noticing that dodging would waste time and cost Lace’s life.

He gritted his fear away and raised the partial armour of his right arm above his head. The warhammer crashed down with a loud bang.

The armour withstood its strength, the unyielding metal kept the weapon at bay. Yet, the impact broke through and twisted the bones of Lace's right arm as his spear fell.

The road cracked underneath as his body smashed against the hot surface. He bawled in agony and sunk into the heating cracks with the absence of air in his lungs.

“Sing me rivers, Slayer! Wail for everyone's ears… let the world know true terror and fear!” Vulkan sniggered.

The warhammer pressed against Lace’s broken right arm, as he pushed back with the bits left of his strength. But, the mighty steel inch closer by each second, the tip of its head swallowed into his chest.

Lace could taste the iron of his blood, leaking from the edges of his mouth and the gaps of his teeth. The smell of his burning chest invoked his need to vomit, but he held it in.

Their faces were inches apart. One with a grin, the other expressing anger.

“There's only 1 sigil on one of his eyes,” 101 muttered as she took a closer look at the blazing god. “His right eye is blind. Mon chou, take his blind spot from the left!”

With a shout, Lace unearthed his left arm from the cracks and impelled his fist towards Vulkan’s head.

The punch connected to the god’s face and stunned him for a good moment. Lace took the chance by grabbing upon Vulkan’s neck with a vice grip and switched their place in one swift motion.

“You ant—” Vulkan said before kissing a hard knuckle.

The warhammer fell, as Lace gazed at his assailant with narrowed eyes and clenched his left fist. Letting his rage steer his action, he pounded the centre of Vulkan’s face without taking any breaths in between.

Slowly, his hands turned darker each time he pummelled the god of fire without a thread of mercy. Hot, lava-like blood could be seen leaking from the god's nose and mouth like a fountain.

Amidst the assault, a strange metallic sound could be heard. Lace glanced from his shoulder and saw Vulkan's Warhammer levitated as it swung itself.

“Ack!” Lace grunted as a strong force slammed on his side, and flung him off with a cracked rib bone.

Vulkan stood up by gripping onto his warhammer with pulsing muscles. His face dripping with his blood and pointed at the young man he regarded as a slayer, “The blood of the willing in you had awakened. However, I care not, as this pathetic place you call home shall be your grave!”

Lace pushed himself off the ground despite his trembling limbs, purpled in pain. His muscles contracted rapidly in the search of energy reserved left within. His sights bent and woozy, he could barely see the outline of the god’s figure.

“If,” He replied, a fierce look etched on his face despite the fear that resided. The anger made him mentally unwavering.

Vulkan roared a war cry and raised his warhammer, followed by a pillar of furious flames that flares up to the skies. The intense heat melted everything nearby within a small radius. With a swing, the searing torrents tore through the air and made their way towards the young Slayer.

His charred left hand, drenched with the god’s blood, shined with visible white veins in response.

“Mon chou, you’re not planning to avoid that, do you?” 101 asked.

“I would if I could, but-” Lace glanced from his shoulder, and saw a group of people trapped in the ring of fire, trembled in fear and some suffocated due to the heat exhaustion. “—it's impossible to dodge that large flame.”

From within, the chill molesting his spines never left. The experience of death lingered in his mind. Knowing that the unknown creature awaited him on the other side instilled fear, more than the mighty blaze in front of him.

“You experienced death once, so the second time wouldn’t be that scary.”

“Haha, very funny, you’re such a comedian,” Lace replied sarcastically.

“I jested, mon chou,” 101 giggled. “Anyway, as I said before, his manifestation is incomplete, which also means he only has a portion of his power.”

“In other words, I have a chance of winning?”

“Yes, roughly around 20 percent if, you play your cards right.”

The chances are small, but never zero, he thought.

Lace gulped and firmly shifted his feet. With his other hand, he relocated the bones of his right arm as he screamed in pain. His tears fell no more, dried as he gazed beyond the walls of fire and settled his eyes on Vulkan.

“Again,” He muttered and took a deep breath of the polluted air, the gale of mana coursed throughout his body, as more visible white veins crept into his face and arms. “Weaponised!”

The tattered cloth within his left fist spread in a circle. Spectral thorny vines crawled and coated it with the same blue sky hue as his spear. Turning it into a round shield of mana, large enough to cover him from neck to his thighs.

“Burn down till your marrow!” Vulkan bellowed.

The searing torrents of flame crashed down onto the earth, as Lace knelt and slammed down the lower rim of his shield on the road against the tremendous blast.

The sea of inferno hammered against his shield. The flames split in half and bits of it inches towards Lace. He placed his faith on his shield as held on to his life and gritted his teeth. Each direction is dyed in glorious red. Waves of fire surrounded Lace and the people behind him. The horrid temperature raised further to a certain degree that could cook them alive.

His left arm and shield were shaken by the sheer strength of the flame. He fought against the sense of dehydration of his dry throat while hanging on a tread of his consciousness from minor symptoms of heatstroke. The edges of his body drew blood from the protruding blaze.

Lace’s feet slid along the road, pushed back by the blast. The lower rim of his shield dug against the tar. Fortunately, someone lent a hand and pushed his back to reduce the impact. He pays no heed to whoever they are and trusted them to keep his ground.

Each second felt like an eternity, the scenery in front of him became blurry. His blood boiled under the heat and pressure. His eyes blinked heavily with dripping red, his numbed arms gradually grew wounds.

Smokes.

Silence came after, the torrent of flames had come to an end. Fumes reside where once the blast had laid upon. Dispersed by the hot gale, a mana shield smoking in heat could be seen with Lace hiding behind it. He had taken the full force of the god of fire head-on, as an immovable wall.

“How could you…” Vulkan voice trailed off, as the flames on his body slowly grew and burned bright. The pitiful human he looked down upon had survived until now, baffled him. “Why hasn’t a wimp like you, died yet!”

The insults, spat by the arrogant Vulkan, made Lace’s heart beat harder once more. He stood up from the ground despite the bleed from his fresh wounds, while his pale skin made him look like a living corpse.

“That’s not the first time someone asked me that,” Lace said, aggravated as he settled the other end of his spear on the road as support. “You remind me of the people I met years ago until now.”

“Don’t compare me with the likes of your kind,” Vulkan retorted.

“Despite being a god, Ironically I found you and them are similar,” Lace replied. “They, too, asked why haven’t I gone to suicide or die alone somewhere else, ‘delaying the inevitable’.”

“They like to act mature, helpful and all-knowing. But behind their colourful smiles, they were secretly arrogant and disgusting backstabbing bastards,” He continued.

“Silence or I’ll burn you from the surface of the earth!” Vulkan demanded, his warhammer blaring with flames, redder than before as if it came straight from hellfire.

“That, you remind me a lot of them,” Lace said with a low growl, steadfast despite the fury displayed by the god of fire, but his own was greater. “And people like you and them–”

--PISS ME OFF!”

He waved his spear as his shield shined bright on par with the god’s flames. The thorny vines on it crackled and scattered into glittering nothingness. His insignia manifests before him with a soft humming aura as his shield extended a barrier. He held it, with pain to the toll and iron to the taste. He gazed back at Vulkan’s anger with his own and violence in his eyes.

“SO TELL ME! HOW LONG CAN YOU DANCE WITH YOUR FLAMES, BEFORE MY SPEAR REACHES YOUR THROAT! VULKAN OF THE FALLEN GODS!”