A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5809

The moment Jared crossed that threshold, a force one hundred times richer—and far wilder—than anything outside slammed into him. It smelled of primeval wilderness and felt like a colossus of fire rousing from sleep to swallow him whole.

A single, resonant hum rippled through space, then the dizziness of transition broke, and the world opened like a curtain yanked from a stage.

Even Jared—tempered by battlefields and heavens alike—caught his breath.

He was not inside some petty cave-dweller's hideout. He stood within a self-contained realm, cut loose from level ten itself, forged entirely from living fire.

Overhead stretched a sky of perpetual combustion: no sun, no moon, no stars—only rivers of molten flame thick as syrup.

To the east flowed newborn dawn-gold fire, warm yet imperious.

In the west, sunset-orange currents drifted like embers, solemn and vast.

The southern vault blazed with blistering white—the illusory echo of the true solar flame that purifies all things.

Northward drifted violet-black clouds so deep they seemed able to swallow heat, light, even souls.

Nothing here stayed still. Fire streamed, collided, and reshaped itself: a phoenix beating fiery wings, a dragon carving circles in incandescent air.

Color bled across the dome in radiant sheets—beauty enough to steal breath, danger enough to still a heart.

Beneath Jared's boots lay dark-red bedrock crystallized by eons of burning, its surface veined with endless, web-thin fissures.

From those cracks erupted pillars of flame—some icy blue yet searing, others midnight black yet bright as noon. Each column arced skyward until it met falling tassels of fire, weaving blazing waterfalls that stitched earth and heavens together. The roar of their union never ceased, a living anthem of this untamed realm.

Magma did not hide meekly beneath the crust. It rolled in full view of the heavens, coursing across the scarlet continent like rivers, lakes, and an ocean of open fire. A living artery, pulsing heat in every direction.

Crimson, honey-gold, and bruised-violet channels intersected and diverged, each lava river slow yet relentless, the current thick as spilled honey and twice as unforgiving.

Upon those molten waters drifted flowers of pure flame and porous stones that burned forever, their embers refusing to sink or dim.

The air reeked of sulfur, yet was laced with a strangely sweet fragrance—an intoxicating perfume born of minerals no mortal furnace could name.

Far off, whole mountain ranges rose—peaks sculpted not from rock but from flame-forged crystal, each summit towering like a cathedral of embered glass.

Those peaks were formed of treasures that would spark wars in the outside world: Scarlet-Core Crystal, Solar-Fire Gem, Heart-Flame Jade—all fused naturally, here, in obscene abundance.

Every mountain stood translucent. Liquid fire flickered inside their bodies, throwing hallucinations of dancing light that rippled across the land in surreal halos.

And at each summit burned an Eternal Flame, a crown that would never gutter, sculpted by cosmic whim into ever-changing shapes.

One such flame unfurled as a red flower large enough to blanket half a mountain. Its petals turned slowly, each vein etched with drifting runes of creation.

Another arranged itself into the crouched silhouette of a fire-forged unicorn—silent, unmoving, yet its mere posture poured dread and reverence across the valley.

A third burned as the outline of a vast palace—arches, eaves, and shuttered gates chiseled from living fire—as though some primordial god still dwelled within.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify