Monica sensed the heat in the tunnel intensify as she tried to keep Ted from bleeding out. His forearms, legs, and chest all spattered blood. Yet he continued strumming his mandolin and humming his melody with a fierce, unyielding devotion.
As Ted's words reached Monica, the Mana generated from his blood essence took a more and more material form. At the same time, his eyes were half-lidded, with sweat streaking down his temples.
Monica watched in stunned awe through her Mana Sense: every speck of Fire Mana that usually swirled in Viscera’s tunnels now poured toward Ted’s wounds.
Then, she heard—no, she felt something.
At first, it was just a faint echo of a pulse—like standing near someone and hearing the faintest double-beat of their heartbeat. But with each passing moment, the resonance grew stronger. She gasped when her chest lurched.
And she finally understood.
My heart is beating in sync with Ted's.
Her own heart began to synchronize with Ted’s faltering rhythm. Each thump made her ribs shake, as though Ted’s blood now coursed through her arteries instead of his own.
It was at once unsettling and strangely intimate—a direct link to his life force.
A curtain of red enveloped Monica, and settled on her back, starting about two feet from her scapulae. From there, it slid onto the air, curving gently and reaching her. As that crimson veil coiled around Monica’s shoulders, she felt it condense and push outward.
The bloody haze spread behind her, as if a second of arms were reaching out from her back. Then, two fiery red wings were sculpted by the melody and unfurled in all their crimson splendor.
They billowed and flared in the flickering light, intangible yet undeniably real, luminous threads connecting them back to Ted’s open wounds.
Monica’s breath caught. She had summoned plenty of flames before, but this was different—this was his life force, fueling an unimaginable synergy between them. The wings gave a single, decisive flap, stirring the stagnant tunnel air into a swirl of sparks and cinder.
And then agony ripped through her. The brilliance of those summoned wings seared into her flesh as if her body couldn’t bear the weight of the borrowed power. She threw her head back and screamed, a feral cry that reverberated along the stone walls. Her knees buckled, and she crashed onto the rough floor with a dull thud.
Still, she tried to maintain her Golden Flame, pressing it into Ted’s chest to staunch the torrent of blood. But a racking convulsion tore through her abdomen, forcing a vile surge of something thick and dark up her throat. She coughed violently, vomiting a stream of pitch-black blood that spattered across the ground.
A crushing despair speared through her mind. It felt like heartbreak magnified a thousandfold, an ancient sorrow she couldn’t name. It wasn’t merely her own regret or fear; it was as if centuries of someone else’s anguish—someone consumed by isolation and hatred—were channeling through her veins.
She moaned, hunched over, her body trembling with raw emotion. She felt the sinister presence being purged from her mouth and bringing her a sudden clarity, as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes—from her very soul.
The more dark fluid she expelled, the stronger her Golden Flame seemed to burn inside her. Almost like a scale tipping back to balance, she felt a surge of renewed energy and control that had been buried beneath the suffocating shadow of the Obsidian Flame.
She gasped in one final retch, and a visceral sense of relief flooded her senses.
A chime echoed at the edges of her consciousness.
*Ding*
Golden Flame has reached Bronze Rank!
Her gaze snapped to Ted. He sat there hunched over, trembling, covered in blood—some of it blackened from mixing with the swirling aura. His eyes were fluttering shut; his song was ending.
“Ted!” she gasped.
Rising unsteadily, she forced her newly empowered Golden Flame through her arms until they blazed with a golden-white light so bright it stung her eyes. She focused the energy entirely on Ted’s failing form. She felt her Vitality rush into the Skill with the kind of strength she had never felt before.
In a brilliant explosion of Golden Flame, the corridor momentarily turned as bright as day. The ground at Ted’s feet smoked under the onslaught of intense healing magic, but his bleeding cuts hissed and sealed with surprising speed. Band after band of that glorious radiance wrapped around his chest, knitting flesh and banishing the mortal danger from his heart.
When the light faded, Ted’s breathing had slowed to a steady, though exhausted, rhythm.
* * *
Ted and Monica looked weirdly at each other. Ted was still sitting on the ground, confused, still in his underwear.
"What did you do?" Monica asked, looking at herself.
*Ding*
Golden Flame Lv.?74 → Lv.?90
*Ding!*
Obsidian Flame Lv.?99 → Lv.?94
"I don't know," Ted replied sincerely, scratching his head. "I learned this Skill from the painting in the military barracks. I just really had no idea what would happen if I used with someone and I was embarrassed. I didn't want the others to see me cutting myself in my underwear and maybe die in my a pool of my own blood like this."
Monica felt all the aggression stoked by the imbalance caused by the Obsidian Flame dissipate and she couldn't help but feel her chest spasm.
"Ted, did you know how dangerous this was going to be? If the Golden Flame didn't work, you'd be dead now."
Ted shrugged and looked away.
He knew, Monica realized, gritting his teeth. He actually knew what he was doing.
"Ted, you're a damn fool," Monica said, stepping closer to him and raising her fist.
Ted closed his eyes, but Monica hooked her arm around his neck and hugged him.
Ted was startled and, awkwardly at first, returned the hug.
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"I can't believe you did this for me," Monica said. "Why would you risk your life like that?"
"I mean, dude," Ted cleared his voice. "Without you, I'd be either eating human flesh by now or dead. I owe you."
She sucked in a sharp breath. Her Golden Flame had skyrocketed in levels by a staggering sixteen, while the Obsidian Flame dropped five levels. The usual tension, the nerve-shredding imbalance, was simply gone.
Her eyes flicked from the notifications to Ted, who looked pale yet relieved. “You… you balanced me out,” she whispered, her voice still raw. “The Golden Flame is strong again.”
Ted gulped. “I didn’t know that would happen, dude,” he admitted, hugging his knees and glancing away nervously. “I discovered a weird Skill from that painting, Blood of the Bard—my best guess is that it nearly killed me without your healing. But I just… I had to do something, you know?”
Monica released the hug to look Ted right in his brown eyes. He had a clear gaze, sincere, and honest.
"Please, never risk your life like this for me, Ted. Please. If you thought we had debt, you've paid it off. With interests."
"It's fine," Ted smiled. "We're here to kill an Old God and get your children back, right? This was nothing much. Sparing the world from another world-ending conflict is more important than my life."
Monica looked at Ted and chuckled.
"Maybe," she replied. "Now, get your clothes. We need to keep going."
* * *
They found Ted’s scattered clothing and gear. Monica helped him slip back into his trousers, face warming at the awkwardness of the situation. For a few minutes, neither spoke, footsteps echoing across the quiet corridor.
At last, Ted slung the mandolin over his back, its strings still glistening with stray droplets of blood. He glanced sidelong at Monica, offering a small, tentative smile.
“So, guess we’re good now?”
Monica nodded, her voice steady. “We are,” she said. “Thanks to you, I can fight without losing myself. Now the Golden Flame can keep up with the Obsidian one.”
Her expression grew serious. “But Ted—please, next time let me know before you do something that dangerous. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
He let out a soft chuckle. “If I did, you’d probably just come back as you usually do.”
She snorted. “Not the point, you fool.”
He gave a sheepish grin. “Got it, dude.”
* * *
Monica had tested the Golden Flame, trying to inject it inside Skills the same way she had the Obsidian Flame. Basically, the difference was pretty much the one she had experienced with Phoenix Step. Using Vitality and the Golden Flame Skills became more fluid, less temperamental. She could feel herself more in control and able to maneuver better, even when using Obsidian Impact, despite the fact that it was an Obsidian-Flame-based Skill; when she did inject the Golden Flame into it, she felt like she could better redirect her blows, giving her more control.
When she moved her body, burning Vitality into the Obsidian Flame made her faster and stronger, but doing so with the Golden Flame made her more flexible, more reactive, more malleable, and enhanced her reflexes.
Now that Monica had gotten the same ability to burn Vitality in order to empower the Golden Flame and to infuse skills with the Golden Flame, she she took good care of fighting as recklessly as she could, delivering only fatal blows instead of exchanging melees all the time, prioritizing the flexibility that the Golden Flame gave her. This meant that instead of being like the sharpest, hardest sword, she was now more like water, flowing around her enemies and only striking when the moment was ripe. This allowed her to level up the Golden Flame more than she leveled up the Obsidian Flame.
Even though both were incredibly powerful, Monica would have rather been mellowed like it had happened back at Rock's Heel than feel the blind fury she had experienced the moment that the Obsidian Flame had gotten twenty-five levels above the Golden Flame.
Even though she felt invincible in the throes of the Obsidian Flame, it made her blind, it made her incapable of thinking clearly.
Now that she wasn't under its effect, she could fight more efficiently, allow her Mana—and the whole group—to last longer.
And so, while Ted and the others made their camp in the marketplace, Monica and Dworsul made theirs in Thizmug's forge. The others couldn't yet survive the temperature in this part of the Blacksmith District, unlike Monica and Dworsul. And, when the others were resting, Monica took the time to forge Dotty's sword. It turned out that the specific design and material that Dworsul had in mind were more complicated than she had expected.
Dworsul had insisted that Monica finally learn to practice with Mithril, since they had been finding one strand in each of Machina's creature and, by now, Monica had plenty in her Inventory.
"Mithril is rare, Avatar," Dworsul said. "And since we have so much at our disposal, the least we can do is have you practice. With your Fire Transmutation evolved and Thizmug's Runic Forge, you should be able to make an alloy out of Mithril."
"What are we making the alloy with?" Monica asked.
Different metals made for different forging experiences. Some rarer metals had very weird Mana patterns that Monica still couldn't smelt into good ingots, much less weapons.
"The young girl uses Antimagic. To make a proper Antimagic weapon, we'll pair Mithril with Aeterium."
"What's that?" Monica asked.
"Aeterium is a metal that disperses Mana. Mithril is the best Mana conductor. You pair the two, you obtain one of the best combinations of Antimagic material you can have without using monster parts. The enemies of Dragons, specifically, Wyverns, have the best natural components to create antimagic material."
"Aeterium is volatile and hard to smelt on its own. You'll need to purify as much as your flames can and then meld it with Mithril. First, you'll purify blocks of Aeterium, then, we'll start making the alloyed ingots. Do you understand, Avatar?"
"I understand," Monica nodded.
She looked around at the empty forge. The others had been leveling up quite a bit, but still, she wasn't confident in them taking the Boss on by themselves.
Now, the most important thing was to start forging Dotty's sword. Even though she had been initially reluctant to involve the girl in the fighting when they had first come to Viscera, Monica had a complete one-eighty since then.
Dotty had revealed herself an unexpected, incredible asset. Her Class had allowed the young girl to kill a Boss much stronger than she should have had any right to fight.
Now, if Monica could forge her a sword worthy of its name, Dotty could perhaps try and do the same with the Wasp Queen.
"Avatar, don't daydream on me," Dworsul scoffed. "Start smelting the Aetherium."
Monica hefted the lumps of Aeterium, narrow-eyed. The metal shimmered a sullen, blood-like red under the forge’s glow. She recognized at once how it resisted her usual routine of purging impurities with the Obsidian Flame. Its entire nature countered Mana.
“That’s why this is so tough,” Monica muttered, stepping back to wipe the sweat from her brow.
"Aetherium will be the second hardest material for you to smelt. I'm confident you'd be doing a better job with rarer metals, Avatar. But Aetherium's main function is to disperse Mana. And your Skills are relying heavily on that. That is the one downside of using your Divine Flames to work a metal."
Monica stopped and sighed, running a hand through her red hair.
"How much of a beating can this Aetherium take?" She retrieved the lump of ore, still full of impurities, and showed it to Dworsul.
"How much?" Dworsul smirked. "More than what you were doing just now. Aetherium is rare, but there's plenty in Viscera. Not many were able to work it. Even Thizmug had trouble using it for his vessels."
"Thizmug would be a much better Blacksmith than me, though," Monica said. She had been humbled time and time again by Dworsul and the Blacksmithing itself that now she knew where she stood in the pecking order of smithing.
"Of course," Dworsul said. "But Thizmug didn't have me watching over his shoulder all the time nor Divine Flames. Burn as much Vitality as you can, Avatar. Do your worst. The Aetherium can take it."
Steeling herself, she poured her Obsidian Flame into the crucible, intentionally letting it siphon her Vitality via Charred Masochist. A punishing jolt of pain shot through her torso, but she directed the black flames expertly at the pockets of slag within the Aeterium. One by one, pockets of impurity crumbled under the onslaught—only for the metal itself to recoil violently, nearly fracturing.
Monica gasped and, with a fierce concentration, wove her newly empowered Golden Flame into the cracks. She merged them back together, effectively healing the metal so it didn’t crumble under the Obsidian assault. Back and forth, black flames to pulverize filth, golden flames to restore structural integrity—like a blacksmith who both hammered and mended the metal in a single fluid motion.
A raw cry tore from her throat. The cost in Vitality was immense.
With one final push, she burned away the last dregs of corruption, forging a gleaming orb of purified Aeterium.
Seconds later, her vision cut out.
"Not too shabby," Dworsul smiles, picking up the ore.
Monica collapsed, her body going slack on the forge’s stone floor.
Dworsul exhaled heavily, picking up the bright orb that still shimmered with residual forging heat. Despite his hardened demeanor, a flicker of admiration crossed his features.
Dworsul shrugged and poked the dead body of the Avatar of the Twin Phoenix.
“Well,” he said, glancing at Monica’s lifeless form with a mix of exasperation and respect, “this may take a while, indeed.”
