The Scarlet Flame was supposed to evolve with spiritual energy. But pouring that much power into it felt like trying to stuff thunder into a teacup.
Something ancient stirred inside it.
Something wild.
Her body convulsed as sharp ruptures crawled from her arms to her shoulders, then crept like twisting vines toward her neck. Each breath came in broken gasps. Her hands trembled.
"Why… why is this happening?"
Her eyes darted toward the door, half-hoping someone had sensed the sudden spike in energy. But no one came.
Of course not. The room was soundproof, built for containment and the guards outside? Lazy. They never thought anyone at the affinity level could cause trouble, let alone trigger something like this.
Her only hope was Knight 33—that brat with a demonic personality and a love for naps. But she could already picture him buried in a pillow, snoring without a care in the world.
"You useless kid…" she muttered through clenched teeth.
Then it hit her. A tortured scream tore out of her throat as her hands flew to her head. Her body felt like it had been lit ablaze from within. It wasn't the kind of pain that kills—it was something else entirely. Deep. Searing. Punishing. As if she had defied some ancient rule written into the fabric of nature.
The table beneath her began to melt.
Her top cracked apart in bursts of scarlet flame. Hair withered and curled into ash. She dropped to the floor, writhing in agony, her skin splitting open like the shell of a scorched fruit.
She looked like a thief caught mid-crime, judged by a force too old, too vast to understand. Flame wrapped around her limbs like shackles. The world shrank to pain.
It was the worst physical pain she had ever felt.
Then—silence.
No crackling fire. No heartbeat pounding in her ears.
She blinked.
The pain had vanished.
Her body shook, trembling, but she pushed herself up, slow and unsure. Her limbs felt weightless. The heaviness in her chest was gone. Even her breathing had changed—shallower, lighter. Yet the air felt heavier, thick like the bottom of the ocean.
Her gaze dropped to her hands, they glowed red and transparent.
And her feet—she could see them phasing through something.
Her own body.
She stared, stunned. The cracked skin, the burns, the flame-damaged shell... all of it remained behind, still breathing.
She spun around toward the mirror on the wall.
But her reflection looked back.
What greeted her instead was the ghost of herself—eyes wide, shimmering like firelight. hair, skin flickering like hot embers. What stood now was not a person, but a soul.
She had stepped out of her body.
Her mouth parted slightly, breath catching.
She knelt beside her physical form, reaching out. Her hand passed through her body to the floor without any sort of resistance.
Of course. Physical barriers didn't affect soul bodies. But the room was built with mana suppressors—powerful enough to trap soul energy, or perhaps suppress the Scarlet Flame itself.
Frowning, she pulled her hand back, then pushed it deeper this time. It slid through metal, cold and solid, then slipped into open space.
She hadn't yet reached the level where one's soul fully separates from the body. But this… this was something else. It wasn't death. Her real body was still breathing. Her heartbeat was steady.
This was something better.
Grinning faintly, she leaned her head through the floor. Her eyes widened.
Below her stretched a massive room, at least four times the size of the one she stood in. Cold air hung thick like fog, a freezer meant for the dead. It wasn't normal—especially not for a police station.
The chill in the room below wasn't natural either. Normal cold air didn't freeze flesh upon contact. This one did—except it melted instantly when it touched her soul body.
The room was filled with shelves. Row after row of files lined them like archives. She reached toward one.
The moment she touched it, it disintegrated in flame.
There were no mana suppressors here. Just that haunting, paralyzing cold.
She lifted her hand and brushed it through the air. Droplets of cold mist gathered in her palm, trailing her fingers like dew on glass.
Then realization struck.
White night dominion Flame.
These people… they actually possessed such a flame.
Flames were supposed to be hot, radiating heat, burning all they touched. But this one didn't.
It carried a freezing cold chill—unnatural and piercing. Every soul flame had its own strange nature. She knew almost nothing about her own Scarlet Flame, a gift she'd received without explanation. But this one? It was infamous.
It was called a flame only because it took the form of burning gas. But instead of radiating heat, it chilled everything around it. It was a soul flame, yet one of nature's weirdest.
Her mother had once wielded the Great wasteland star annihilating flame —a flame more powerful than any she'd ever seen. More than the white night dominion flame More than even her Scarlet.
But the white night dominion Flame had its place. It was feared for a reason. It could suppress soul power entirely.
No wonder it was hidden here.
She moved deeper into the room. Even with her body formed by the Scarlet Flame, the cold clung to her. It wasn't lethal, but it was terrifying.
She wandered through the freezing space, studying the details. On one shelf sat a soda bottle—an ordinary thing at first glance. But the moment she drew near, she felt it.
An intense wave of chilling pressure rolled off it. Anyone who touched it physically would be frozen instantly.
Her brows furrowed.
She turned down a narrow corridor, nothing remarkable about it… until she spotted another soda bottle, also radiating that same icy energy. It stood at the edge of a shelf like it had been carelessly placed.
She stared at it for a moment.
A random object holding soul flame pressure? Twice?
No, this wasn't random.
Her gaze flicked toward the back of the room—and there, on top of an old printer, sat a third soda bottle.
That sealed it.
This wasn't ordinary storage. This was a puzzle.
It reminded her of ruins she'd once studied. Old techniques, forgotten by most. Symbols. Mechanisms. Bottles like these could be keys—or triggers.
Why not use a password to open a secret door?
Unless… there was no visible door.
She rubbed her chin, eyes narrowing, a smile forming on her lips.
If this all led to something worthwhile…
She darted back to the bottle on the shelf and grabbed it.
It didn't move.
Rooted to the shelf like stone.
She stepped back and considered the others. Three bottles. One person.
Maybe they had to be activated together.
That was a problem.
But perhaps—just perhaps—if she could form a flame mantra, she might be able to split into three. Create two copies of herself. Flame clones.
It was risky. But she was already half out of her body.
Maybe now was the perfect time to try.