Nyx'Thalor is an infernal metropolis where rusted metal towers pierce a perpetually gray sky, streaked with red, blue, and purple neon. The streets buzz with armed drones, cybernetic gangs, and soul merchants with glowing eyes. The Iron Arena, a pit carved into an old abandoned factory, echoes with the roars of a frenzied crowd, its scrap-metal stands lit by flickering spotlights. In the distance, sporadic explosions light up the horizon—remnants of wars between demonic factions vying for control of this hell.
Acid rain hissed against Nyx'Thalor's cracked asphalt, dissolving the debris littering the dark alleys. Gills—or rather Gilvaris, as he was still called back then—moved cautiously, his torn cyberpunk jacket flapping in the toxic wind. The flaming skull he'd painted on the back, a mix of blue and cyan, seemed to glow under the red neon bathing the infernal city. His black hair, streaked with blood-red from damnation, clung to his soaked forehead. He gripped a rusty knife in his right hand, his sharp eyes scanning every shadow. In his mortal world, a cyberpunk realm ravaged by megacorporations, he'd been a leader, a rebel defying authority to save his sister. But an ally betrayed him, and security drones' bullets ended his revolt—and his life. Now, in this hell, he was just another damned soul, searching for a reason not to give up.
An explosion rumbled a few blocks away, followed by the growl of a roaring engine. Gills pressed himself against a cracked concrete wall, his breath forming wisps in the cold air. The Neon Reavers were close—a gang of cybernetic raiders terrorizing the underbelly, their augmented blades and drones hunting weak souls to sell to demonic merchants. He'd torched one of their outposts the night before, burning their stash with an improvised flare—a petty revenge against the hell that had swallowed him. But they'd spotted him, and now they were on his tail.
A high-pitched hum tore through the air, and a Reaver drone rounded the alley corner, its red optics flashing in the dark. Gills dove behind a stack of metal crates as a beam of light swept the space, followed by a burst of projectiles that riddled the ground. "Shit!" he cursed, rolling aside to dodge a shrapnel blast. He sprinted toward an adjacent alley, boots slapping wet concrete, but the drone pursued, its retractable blades deploying with an ominous clank. Backed against a wall, he hurled his knife, which ricocheted uselessly off its armor. The machine advanced, ready to strike.
Then he saw it: a makeshift altar, half-hidden under a tattered tarp at the alley's end. A blood-red gem pulsed at its center, surrounded by sparking electrical cables that writhed like living veins feeding an artificial heart. A deep, burning voice rumbled in his skull, resonant as a volcano erupting: "Mortal, your rage is a flame that refuses to die. I am Kalgarax, Scarlet Flame of the Abyss, elder brother of Volgurax, exiled from the ancient wars of Krynn'Vhul. Take my power, and together, we'll burn this hell to ash!"
Gills hesitated, the drone mere meters away, its blades whistling through the air. "If this is a trap, I'm already dead," he muttered, reaching for the gem. A surge of scarlet flames erupted, enveloping him in unbearable heat. His skin sizzled, his bones seemed to melt, but a new strength pulsed through his veins. Kalgarax roared in his mind: "We are bound, little mortal brother! Let our enemies turn to cinders!" Gills screamed, his hands igniting red, and hurled a fireball that smashed into the drone. The explosion lit up the alley, metal shards flying everywhere, and silence fell, broken only by the crackle of dying flames.
He panted, hands trembling under the power's intensity. "What the hell are you?" he growled at the voice. Kalgarax chuckled: "Your salvation… or your damnation. Move, mortal, the fight's just beginning." Gills felt a familiar heat in his chest, a rage not entirely his own, urging him forward. He had no time to think—shouts and the roar of engines drew near. The Neon Reavers had arrived.
Blocks away, in the Iron Arena, the crowd roared beneath flickering spotlights, their cries bouncing off rusted steel walls. Kira stood at the pit's center, her short red hair blazing like a torch under the harsh light. Her skin, crisscrossed with scars and runic tattoos, bore witness to years of combat.
In her mortal world, a cyberpunk city like Gills', she'd been an elite thief, raiding megacorporate vaults to survive. She'd sold her soul to a minor demon to save her lover, Jex, from execution—only for him to betray her, handing her over to the authorities for his freedom. When bullets cut her down, she awoke here, in Nyx'Thalor, a damned soul without purpose, until the arena became her home.
That night, she faced a cybernetic colossus—an ex-fighter modded with demonic implants, his arms ending in hydraulic hammers. The crowd chanted her name—"Kira! Kira!"—as she dodged a blow that cracked the pit's floor. Her bare knuckles bled, but she grinned, a wild glint in her eyes. Undefeated, a local legend, yet each victory left her emptier. A demonic merchant, a figure with glowing eyes and a twisted smirk, had approached her before the fight. "Wanna really win, kid?" he'd hissed, offering a pair of rusted gauntlets, the Cestus of Astrugg. "Put these on, and nothing'll stop you."
She'd taken them without a word, slipping them on just before the match. A guttural voice rumbled in her mind: "I am Astrugg, Forger of Raw Flames, forgotten from the ancient wars. Accept my strength, and we'll shatter everything in our path." The cestus flared orange, and when she struck the colossus, his hammer shattered like glass, the crowd howling in thrill. She finished him with a flaming uppercut, molten metal dripping to the floor, and rose, panting, under a storm of cheers.
But the reprieve was short. An explosion rocked the arena, the stands shaking as Neon Reaver drones breached the walls, their cybernetic blades glinting under the neon. The crowd panicked, fleeing in a chaos of screams and twisted metal, as the raiders flooded the pit, their implants clicking like mechanical insects. Kira growled, her cestus igniting again. "Not now, you bastards!" she snapped, lunging at the first Reaver. Her fist smashed through reinforced armor, sending the foe crashing into a pillar, but they were too many, their blades whistling dangerously close to her throat.
That's when Gills burst into the arena, pursued by a Reaver squad. A wave of scarlet flames erupted from his hands, incinerating two drones on his heels, and he stumbled into the pit, landing meters from Kira. Their eyes locked through the smoke—him, a stranger with red flames dancing in his gaze; her, a blood-and-sweat-streaked warrior, her cestus crackling with orange energy. "Who're you, firebug?" she shouted, dodging a blade that grazed her shoulder.
"Someone who hates losing!" Gills shot back, springing up. A Reaver blade swung at him, but he hurled a fireball, forcing it back. "We fight together, or we die here?" Kira smirked, a wild spark in her eyes. "You've got guts—I like that!" She charged, her cestus smashing a Reaver in a burst of metal and sparks, while Gills unleashed a flame storm to cover her flank. Their coordination was instinctive, almost supernatural—Gills' red flames creating openings, Kira's fiery strikes finishing foes.
But the ground quaked, and a mechanical roar split the air. The Reavers parted, revealing their leader: Kronax, a colossus in mecha-armor, a three-meter monstrosity clad in blackened steel plates and pulsing red circuits. His arms, tipped with plasma cannons, spat sparks, and a retractable blade jutted from his back like a scorpion's tail. "You two… dared defy the Neon Reavers?" he rumbled, his voice amplified by speakers. "I'll crush your souls and offer them to Satan himself!"
Kira clenched her fists, her cestus flaring brighter. "Big pile of scrap, come try it!" Gills, beside her, summoned a red flame barrier, his breath ragged. "We've got to take him down fast, or we're done." Kronax charged, the ground trembling, firing a plasma salvo that forced Gills and Kira to dive apart. The stands buckled under the impact, metal shards raining around them.
Gills rolled aside, hurling a flame wave to deflect a blade strike, but Kronax countered with a cannon blast, the searing heat grazing his face. Kira leapt, her cestus smashing the mecha's leg in an orange fireburst, but the armor held, and a backhand sent her crashing into a wall, blood trickling from her lip. "Kira!" Gills shouted, rage surging. Kalgarax growled in his mind: "Let me take over, mortal!" Gills refused, gritting his teeth. "We do this my way!"
He dashed at Kronax, sliding under a blade to hurl a fireball into an armor joint, exposing sparking cables. Kira, rising with a groan, dove at the gap, her cestus smashing the circuits in a shower of sparks. "Now, firebug!" she yelled. Gills summoned a red flame storm, targeting the breach, and Kira's orange flames merged with it, forming a blazing vortex that engulfed Kronax. The mecha staggered, circuits melting, and collapsed with a metallic scream, a final explosion rocking the arena.
Silence fell, broken by the crackle of dying flames and the hum of shattered neon. Gills and Kira, panting, rose amid the wreckage, surrounded by the charred husks of Reavers. The crowd, creeping back, murmured in awe. Kalgarax whispered in Gills' mind: "This mortal… Astrugg's an old ally. Our flames recognize each other, like my brother Volgurax's. Fate plays tricks, little brother."
Gills extended a trembling hand to Kira, a smirk on his soot-streaked face. "Name's Gills. You're not bad, for a brawler. Wanna team up?" Kira wiped blood from her lip, chuckling. "Kira. If you can keep up, firebug, I'm in." They shook hands, their flames—scarlet and orange—dancing briefly together under the flickering neon, sealing a bond forged in chaos.
Months later, Gills and Kira, now inseparable, stood on a rooftop overlooking Nyx'Thalor, sharing a stolen cyber-cigarette from a soul merchant. Skyscrapers glimmered in the distance, their reflections shimmering in acid rain puddles. Gills stared at his red flames, pensive. "Sometimes I hear a voice in these flames… like a brother looking for me." Kira shrugged, exhaling smoke. "Long as it doesn't make you too chatty, I'm good." Kalgarax chuckled in his mind: "Volgurax, that insolent runt… When you meet him, tell him his big brother owes him a thrashing."