Chapter 1: Blaze of Glory
12,000 years later…
The Lightbulb Sun shone down upon Planet Mixel, bathing its surface in warmth and radiant light. Down below, Mixopolis, the planet's premier city and a paragon of unity and harmony, stood proudly as always, its towering buildings adorned with a myriad of colors. Even from a great distance, one could recognize its diverse, distinctive architecture, standing tall and embodying the signature creativity of Mixelkind.
Since its conception, Mixopolis was intended as a central hub for Mixels of all tribes, a place meant to further unite their species. Aside from an incident involving the Nixels, the colorless, malevolent antithesis to Mixelkind, corrupting the city from the inside out and nearly taking control with a scam involving "I-Cubits" – an incident which was quickly resolved – the city was all but a resounding success, as many other cities had undergone rapid development, seeking to emulate its appeal.
The fruits of its builders' labor could be seen on every corner: thousands of Mixels, of all different colors, shapes, and sizes, bustled throughout the streets, happily chatting, interacting and Mixing with one another. Although the city was separated into districts tailored to each tribe's needs, this did not deter the natural harmony characteristic of Mixelkind.
From the gleaming skylines to its exciting attractions, Mixopolis was a place full of wonder and diversity. Some called it the next step for Mixel civilization, others saw it as a disconnection from their natural homes and ways of life. Regardless, it was undoubtedly unique.
Hovering far above the roads and infrastructure, a Pterobus chugged along its usual route, eyes idly drifting about. Inside, many Mixels sat patiently and chatted with each other as they waited for their stops. A young Muncho child gazed out the windows, mesmerized by how high above the buildings they were. Their mother quickly took notice, and approached them to beckon them away from the windows.
Before she could, however, a flaming rockball blazed upward, leaving a smoldering trail behind. For a split-second, it hovered in midair, inches away from the Pterobus' windows, before plummeting to the ground as quickly as it had appeared.
Below, in the Infernite District, a heated battle of epic proportions was raging on. Plumes of flame and showers of rocky shrapnel flew from either side of the district's Mixelball stadium as both teams, three Infernites and Cragsters each, clashed furiously.
As the rockball descended with the force of a miniature meteorite, one of the Infernites, one with large, glowing hands and a fireball for a head, rushed toward the center in an attempt to catch it. "I gots it, I gots it!" he called out, his arms outstretched and ready to meet the rapidly approaching rockball. It fell farther and farther, accelerating more with each second. It was practically already in his grasp.
…Or it would have been, had a shark-like Cragster not burst from the ground as if it were an ocean and snapped the rockball up in his jaws, sending the Infernite flying in the process. The crowd, mostly Infernites and Cragsters themselves, erupted into a chorus of whoops and shocked roars at the sudden interception. As for the lanky Infernite, he landed unceremoniously near his team's goal, prompting his teammate to rush over.
"Woah, Blazore, you OK?" a mudskipper Infernite asked him, his tone laced with concern. "I know you've taken lots of hits before, but that one seemed really nasty." Blazore shakily hoisted himself up, grunting as he did so. His legs wobbled slightly as he regained his balance. "Yeah…yeah, I'm fine," he replied. "Thanks anyway, Torroxu. Just keep focusing on defense for now."
"If you say so," Torroxu muttered, slinking back toward the obsidian-plated goal. As the team's goalkeeper, he was the most concerned for his teammates' well-being; after all, if they fell, he would swiftly follow.
A boisterous laugh echoed from the other end of the field as the shark-like Cragster resurfaced, tossing the now-extinguished rockball between his fins. His teammates, one with four limbs ending in large, rounded feet and another resembling an armored pillbug, shuffled over to join him, snickering under their breaths.
"What's the matter, laddie?" the shark Cragster sneered, baring his numerous teeth. "Ya 'bout to snuff out in the face of real professionals, or do ya still have sum fight in ya left?" Blazore's flames flared higher in anger. "Oi, what do you think you're laughing about, pebble? You haven't seen anything yet! W-we'll scorch you all!" Admittedly, it was somewhat half-hearted, but it was better than saying nothing at all.
"In a three-on-two match? Ha, you've got guts for such a wee lil' ember of a Mixel, don't ya?"
"Wait, Lithodon," Kwaykur, the four-limbed Mixel, cut in. Lithodon turned to face him, annoyed. "What is it?" he asked.
"What about third one?"
Lithodon smirked. "That fire-spittin' blowhard? He prob'ly flew away like the lil' birdie he is under all that babble!" He turned back to face the Infernites, adopting an aggressive stance. "Now then, enough talk," he continued. "Let's finish this, boyos!" In a singular fluid motion, he launched the rockball skyward before swatting it with his tail, sending it hurtling toward his adversaries.
Blazore was quick to jump into action, dodging the oncoming rockball before swiftly turning on his heel, racing to meet the ball. He sighed in frustration as he repositioned himself. "We're barely holding our own against these blokes," he groaned. "Where's Pyron when you need him?"
The third member of the Trailblazers, as the team was known, was notorious for vanishing in the middle of matches, usually to pull off ostentatious aerial stunts that only came into play at the most critical moments. When Blazore had questioned him about it, Pyron simply asserted that it was part of "the natural Pyron style." As far as the former was concerned, that was a roundabout way of stating that Pyron was a massive show-off.
Regardless of his missing teammate, however, Blazore remained determined to carry on. If Pyron wouldn't bother, it was up to him and Torroxu to win. Igniting his hand, Blazore set the rockball alight with a small fireball before kicking it upward, followed by a second, more powerful roundhouse kick. With the momentum he needed, Blazore maintained a constant pace, kicking the rockball like a bassocc ball. Stalagmites began to sprout from all sides of the field, but Blazore effortlessly navigated past all of them.
The amplified voice of a Newzer sportscaster provided commentary to Blazore's relentless charge. "In spite of Lithodon's sudden ambush, Blazore is back on his feet and on the offensive!" the Newzer, Lenscene, narrated. "Will he finally break the tie? Or will the Stalactistrikers' defenses be too sturdy to overcome?"
In his peripheral vision, Blazore spotted the form of the pillbug Mixel, Bolldo, rushing toward him from the right. Thinking quickly, he kicked the rockball into the air before dropping into a slide, causing the Cragster to soar straight over his target.
Regaining his previous momentum, Blazore caught the rockball once more before continuing onward. It wasn't long before he was nearing the goal, its wide obsidinite hoop prime for scoring. He just needed to close the distance a little and he could wrap this up for good. He could prove that he wasn't reliant on Pyron's showboating or glamorous tricks to win.
At last, he was within optimal range. The flaming rockball went skyward yet again. His eye burning with intense resolve, Blazore focused his willpower into a fiery, climactic kick, sending the rockball speeding…
…directly into a pair of giant, rocky hands.
"Ohhh! Intercepted at the last second by an unexpected Mix between Lithodon and Kwaykur! What a twist!" Lenscene bellowed. Blazore could only stand in utter disbelief. His sole opportunity to seize victory had been snatched away by the behemoth that stood before him in the blink of an eye. He had barely seen it coming. "Are you serious?!" he yelled incredulously.
A wide, malicious grin spreading across their face, the Mix launched the ball to their right. "Take it away, Bolldo!" they hollered as the Cragster caught it with his pincers, completing the pass without a hitch. Bolldo then curled up into himself, becoming a living sphere of adamantine stone. Although he couldn't match Lithodon's impressive mobility or Kwaykur's sheer strength, any Stalactistriker fan worth their gold knew that once Bolldo started rolling, almost nothing could stop him.
Rapidly spinning like a buzzsaw, Bolldo rammed into the rockball such that it began to roll with a similar speed. The force from the impact sent it careening toward Blazore. It came too quickly for the Infernite to respond, and struck him like a bowling ball, instantly incapacitating him.
With one opponent down, Bolldo took off like a shot, changing the rockball's trajectory with a second collision. He kept a steady pace, racing down the field like an overdriven dunecycle. From his goal, Torroxu watched with equal anticipation and dread. Any remaining chances of victory now fell on his shoulders, but he could only do so much. As skilled a defender as he was, he lacked the offensive power his teammates possessed.
It was no excuse to throw in the towel, however. He was the goalkeeper, the team's final bastion against any and all opposition. He didn't know if he could stop Bolldo, but he at least had to try. It was his responsibility, his purpose.
Staring down the rockball and its unofficial escort, Torroxu slithered away from the safety of his goal. With a deep breath, he released plumes of dark smoke from the vents on his sides, creating a dense veil that would hopefully impede the Cragster.
His efforts were futile, however.
Before he fully registered its presence, the rockball breezed over Torroxu's head, as did Bolldo. Contrary to the Infernite's expectations, the Cragster was unfazed by the smog; he relied only on his senses of hearing and touch while in his spherical form.
As the rocky pillbug uncurled himself, poised to strike, Torroxu could only watch in despair. Despite their efforts, neither he or Blazore had successfully countered or outplayed the Stalactistrikers, and now they would pay the price. Even if they had time to formulate some kind of plan, could they even overcome the invincible combination of all three Cragsters? Could they even score? If only Pyron was here to help…
The goal mere feet away, Bolldo charged toward the rockball, focusing his momentum to deliver a final decisive, one that would permanently end the match.
A blur of red and orange streaked by, and the rockball vanished.
Bolldo ended up slamming directly into the ground, kicking up a small cloud of dust. Dazed, he hoisted himself up, reassessing his surroundings. The boisterous roars of the crowds suddenly caught his attention, prompting him to turn around toward the source of their excitement. His beady eyes widened instantly.
Flexing his fiery wings far above him, rockball in claws, was Pyron himself, returning the Cragster's gaze with a prominent smirk. "Looking for this?" he taunted, waving the rockball about. "At last," Torroxu breathed, relieved. Blazore, still recuperating from the impact, was less enthused. "Took him long enough," he scoffed.
Pyron turned to the crowd behind him, striking a pose, which drove them even wilder. This was part of what made Mixelball so exciting for him: the attention, the fame, the prestige. He relished every second of it, and he wasn't afraid to stoke the flames of his fans' excitement a little if it meant a few more seconds in the spotlight. He returned his attention to the insectoid Cragster, his eyes sharp and focused.
"Wait, how you-" Bolldo was silenced by a blast of flame courtesy of Pyron, sending him flying out of bounds. The draconic Infernite then took off in the direction of the Stalactistrikers' goal, flying at breakneck speed. Gripping the rockball firmly, he streamlined his blazing wings, gliding across the arena with ease. Incensed by the Infernite's return, the Lithodon & Kwaykur Mix slammed the ground with all four feet at once, sending cracks snaking through the earth before bursting violently, giving way to giant monoliths.
This hardly deterred Pyron, however; he saw it as a welcome challenge. He effortlessly maneuvered past each rock formation, even as they increased in number. He dived beneath an incoming stone archway, loop-de-looping in midair as he emerged from the other side. Changing tactics, Pyron flew closer toward the ground, wings folded like a peregull. As he descended, his wing unfolded to reveal his team's trump card: a singular Cubit, scarlet and maroon like its holder.
"Blazore, Torroxu, let's do this!" he yelled as he flew further downward. Wasting no time, both Infernites rushed across the field, jumping over and ducking under stone pillars to meet their captain.
Fortunately, Pyron's descent was timed to a tee, and their trajectories converged almost perfectly. Leaping up, Blazore and Torroxu grabbed the Cubit, causing it to glow with strange and powerful energy. The trio's forms glowed as well, before collapsing into color energy and coalescing into a single mass. The mass pulsated and swirled as it began to assume a new form, slowly manifesting a torso, then arms and legs. Its form solidified as it landed on solid ground. As the light faded, a new creature was revealed: a hulking beast with a huge, toothy maw, flaming wings and a tapering, flame-tipped tail, none other than the Trailblazer's iconic Max.
"And here it is, ladies and gentlemixels! The Trailblazers' fiery Max!" Lenscene proclaimed from his booth, voice bombastic as ever. "With Pyron back in the game, the tables have completely turned on the Stalactistrikers! Can they hold up to this living inferno?" Accompanying Lenscene's commentary was another wave of cheers and hollers from the audience, enthralled by the Max's appearance.
The beast of brimstone glared down at the Lithodon & Kwaykur Mix, their mouth curled into an arrogant grin as they tossed the rockball in their claw. The Mix stood their ground, taking a defensive stance. "Ye think I'm scared of ye, firespitter?" they snarled, eyes darkened. "'Cause if ye think I am, ye've got another thing comin'!"
The Max only scoffed in response. "Go ahead then. Take your best shot," they replied.
Like a bullephant taunted by a matador, the Mix easily took the bait. Another thump of their feet made the ground quake once more, throwing up chunks of rubble that became a ruthless barrage under the Mix's control. However, the Max was unfazed by the oncoming attack, being substantially tougher than any of its constituents. A few well-placed punches shattered the rubble, followed by a jet of flame emitted from the Max's mouth. Although the fire did little to affect the Mix's stony hide, it was simply a distraction from the Max's true plan.
Flying up to gain leverage, the Trailblazers Max swallowed the rockball whole before igniting a spark within their maw. The flame inside grew larger and larger, causing smoke to seep out from their nostrils. Clearing away excess dust and debris, the Mix could only glare in defiance as the incandescent goliath prepared their final attack.
The crowd watched in anticipation. The clock ticked down. The Max's cheeks glowed brighter, brighter still, as more smoke emerged from their nose and mouth. The Lithodon & Kwaykur Mix tensed their muscles, remaining steadfast.
After uncountable moments, the Max, their cheeks inflated like a puffurchin, spewed out the rockball as an infernal comet of destruction, headed straight for the Cragsters' goal. The Mix attempted to block it, but they were a moment too late. The rockball flew through the goal before crashing into the ground, its impact creating a massive explosion that covered the entire field.
The timer hit zero.
As the Infernites among the crowd erupted into triumphant cheers, the Trailblazers Max gracefully descended, their form wobbling before splitting back into the victorious trio. Lithodon and Kwaykur lay in a fresh crater forged by the rockball's impact, covered in soot and out for the count.
"And the Trailblazers win 21 to 18! Not only is this another victory for the fiery trio, but this means they will be heading to the playoffs in two weeks!" Lenscene announced. Upon hearing those words, Pyron's heart soared. They had done it. He had done it. After endless months of training and too many matches to count, he and his team had made it to the official playoffs. He could practically see the Championship trophy in his grasp now.
He flew around the other two, ecstatic. "Did you hear that, guys? We're in the playoffs! We're practically on a one-way trip to becoming Champions! Woo-hoo!"
His passion was certainly contagious, evidenced by his teammates' expressions. "Yeah…I can't believe we really did it," replied Blazore, still trying to take everything in. "I knew we could do it! Nice job, team," Torroxu cheered.
As the crowds began to clear out and the Stalactistrikers were carried off for treatment, the Trailblazers' coach, Magneous, approached them. He seemed just as pleased by the match as they were, grinning from ear to ear. "Great performance today, boys. You really showed what we Infernites are made of out there," he said. His grin widened further. "Now then, who's up for victory Cookironis?"
"And did you see the look on that guy's face when I snatched the Rockball from him? It was totally priceless, ha!" Pyron boasted, popping another Cookironi into his mouth. Following the aftermath of the game, the Trailblazers had retired to their training camp, where they now were enjoying a plate of freshly baked Cookironis courtesy of Magneous' wife, who was more than happy to provide refreshments for the team. The team's discussion mostly revolved around the recent match, and as was usually the case, Pyron dominated the conversation with vivid recounts of his stunts.
"And then when I flew through those giant rocks?" the dragon continued after swallowing the Cookironi. "I almost thought I was going to smack right into one of those! I actually didn't, but it's more fun to imagine I did. Oh, and let's not forget when we Maxed right at the end. That timing was on point!"
Torroxu reclined in his seat, nibbling on his own baked treat. "True. That match was mad tough, though. We were almost about to lose before you showed up."
"Speaking of which," Blazore chimed in, his tone dry. He set down the two Cookironis in his hand as he locked eyes with Pyron. "I've gots a question for you, Pyron."
"Shoot," Pyron casually replied.
"What were you doing today? No, seriously, what? We all know you have a habit of flying off and doing your own thing, but this time you were gone for more than half the game! How do you explain that?!"
"Now that you mention it, it was kinda long, even by Pyron's standards," agreed Torroxu.
Pyron paused momentarily, caught off guard by the question. His uncertainty swiftly dissipated however, as he pieced together a response. "Oh, that? Uh, you know, just flying overhead, scouting out the arena, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The usual. You're welcome for the save, by the way." He shot a grin with the last sentence, expecting a grateful response. It never came, however.
Blazore's expression remained unamused as he sighed. "Look, I get that what you do is part of your whole…uh…"
"The natural Pyron style."
"That, yeah. The point is…" Blazore continued, brow furrowed. "You really need to work on actually working together and communicating with us. You're our leader, mate, and a leader's job is to make sure the team sticks together. I hate to say this, but we can't always rely on your natural talent to win."
Pyron paused again, his smile fading. Throughout all of the discussions surrounding his unorthodox strategies, never before had it been addressed so seriously or bluntly as Blazore had just now. For the slightest moment, he reconsidered his actions. Could he have been more active? Could he have helped more often?
His eyes narrowed in concentration. After a brief silence between the three, the winged Infernite returned to his usual expression.
"Yeah…I get it," Pyron said, his tone noticeably calmer. "I get what you're saying, Blazore. I admit that it wasn't my best performance, and that I could have done more to help you guys, even if we did win." The smile on his face lacked any of the arrogance in his usual smirk, instead bearing what seemed like genuine sympathy. "I promise I'll try to be a better leader in the playoffs, alright?"
Neither Mixel was fazed. This wasn't the first time Pyron had promised to improve himself, only to revert to his normal behavior the very next day as if nothing had happened.
"I promise!" Pyron repeated, this time more emphatically. "By next week, I'll be out on the field leading you guys to victory the whole way through!"
Blazore hesitated for a moment longer, before finally relenting, his expression relaxing. "If you say so," he said, leaning back on the fireproofed couch.
"Thanks. I appreciate it," Pyron said. His gentle smile then morphed into his characteristic grin, his energy renewed. "Anyway, now that that's out of the way, let's get back to the match! Those Cragsters didn't stand a chance, ha!" Torroxu only sighed as Blazore rolled his eye indignantly. It was clear their leader would truly never change.
Eventually, the Lightbulb Sun began to gravitate toward the horizon, tinting the landscape with a warm orange hue. After some more discussion, Blazore and Torroxu soon took their leave, leaving Pyron alone. As he prepared to leave, Magneous entered the common room, his face serious.
"Ah, Pyron, you're still here. That's good," he said upon noticing the draconic Mixel's presence. "I actually was planning on discussing something with you." Pyron obliged, prompting Magneous to slump down onto one of the chairs. Once he got himself settled, the coach turned toward his star player, his face maintaining his stony expression.
"So…how did your chat with the others go? Anything in particular on your mind?" Magneous asked. Pyron's face became somewhat thoughtful as he recalled the earlier conversation. "Well, nothing too major," he replied. "Though Blazore did bring something up about me needing to work on being a better leader or something, which I sorta don't get, because I feel like I'm already doing just fine. Like, just look at the game from today. If not for me saving that Cubit till the end, we totally would've lost."
Magneous simply sighed. Although he had never had the heart to say it completely straight to the crown jewel of his team, he couldn't deny that it was a growing concern he shared with his other players. He had put up with Pyron's antics for the most part, but even the most patient Mixels had their limits. For the benefit of the team, this had to be addressed one way or another.
"Well, Blazore isn't the only one concerned, I'll say that much," the stocky Infernite said. "I saw your performance out there…whatever I could see, anyway."
"So you saw that we won, right?" Pyron interjected. "If not for my save, we wouldn't have made it to the playoffs!"
"And if not for your unwarranted absence for most of the match, Blazore and Torroxu wouldn't have been smacked around by those rock-headed lugs so much, would they?" Magneous sternly shot back. As much as Pyron wanted to retaliate, he knew better. Understanding as he was, his coach's temper burned as intensely as a live volcano, and it took quite a lot to provoke him. It was clear he was nearing that threshold now, so Pyron simply sat in silence, hanging his head slightly.
Magneous sighed again, slouching further in his chair. "Look, being a leader isn't just about finding an optimal strategy or by being the best player," he said, his tone slightly gentler. "It also means communicating with your teammates effectively, creating strategies that you all can agree on, and staying by their side and helping them even when the odds are stacked against you. If you want to have a chance at winning in the playoffs, you need to step up your game and become that leader."
Pyron said nothing, but from his expression it was clear Magneous' words weren't an easy pill to swallow. He wasn't used to having his flaws pointed out so vividly.
"In two weeks, you'll be going to another game. Only this time, it's the playoffs – which means your opponents won't be holding back," the larger Infernite continued. "So I don't want to see any more of these stunts of yours during matches, unless you want this whole team to go up in smoke. Is that clear?"
"But I can-"
"Is that clear?"
Pyron opened his mouth to respond, but not a word came out. Defeated, he hung his head low. "Yes, Coach," he muttered.
Pyron looked up again to notice Magneous' eyes had softened, hints of sympathy offsetting his otherwise authoritative demeanor. It was the face most familiar to him, the face of the coach that always had his back, almost like a second father. It was certainly relieving, as Pyron felt his built-up tension ebb away. Magneous seemed to be deep in thought as he looked at Pyron, carefully selecting his next words.
"I…I don't want you to think that I'm trying to break you down or anything like that," he said, his voice taking on a gentler tone to match his expression. "I just want the best for you and your team. You're a talented kid, and you've done well – really well, in fact – so far, but…" He paused again for thought. "...from the way you act, I just don't know if you gots what it takes to face the challenges ahead. You get what I mean?"
It was now Pyron who paused as he processed everything he was just told. As he considered his coach's words, he replayed the previous game in his mind, and all the ones before that. Though he fondly remembered every achievement, every maneuver he had masterfully executed, he was still aware that he needed to improve...somehow.
Even so, Pyron's self-confidence was formidable, and it seemed to brush these thoughts aside, dismissing them as fleeting fantasies. Even when what rationality lurked in the Mixel's mind attempted to protest, Pyron's ego was firm in its own judgment.
"Yeah…yeah, I get it," Pyron said. As he regained his confidence, his trademark grin emerged yet again. "But I'm not going to let you down or make another mistake like that again – and that's because I've already gots the skills and training to win, thanks to you! I've already gotten this far, right?" His voice rose in volume the longer he spoke. "So don't you worry, Coach, because I'll be out there leading my team all the way to sweet, sweet victory, and that trophy will be mine! I mean, ours." His smile, now brimming with positivity, stretched from one horn to the next.
Magneous sighed once again, this time out of resignation more than anything. Even with his words of guidance, he too was forced to accept the inevitable truth that the Trailblazers' leader never would change – at least, in a major way.
"If that's what you believe, Pyron," he responded. "I only hope you truly listened to what I had to say." And I hope that if I can't get it through your head, something else will, he thought to himself.
Magneous arose from his chair, stretching as he did so. "Welp, I'm heading out for the night," he said, lumbering toward the exit. "Thanks for staying, I appreciate it. Rest up for tonight. You've earned it…so to speak." As Pyron fluttered up from his own seat, flexing his wings, Magneous briefly turned back. "You know I'm really counting on you, right?" he asked.
"Yeah, of course. Like I said, I won't fail you," Pyron replied.
Magneous only nodded before turning away. "Have a good night," he said, before exiting the common room, the other Infernite following suit.
A trail of embers fizzled and drifted through the air, accenting the evening sky with their subtle glow. They gradually floated to the ground below, dancing in the wake of a distinctive pair of flaming wings. As Pyron glided above the Infernite District, headed for home, the gears in his mind were spinning rapidly, still pondering the meeting he had only recently left.
Magneous had seemed somewhat reassured by his statement, although it was difficult to tell sometimes. Regardless, it didn't affect Pyron's unwavering confidence in himself – he had his track record to show for it, after all. Ultimately, the meeting did little to deter his natural determination in any meaningful way. After all, he totally stomped the Stalactistrikers – how much tougher could any of the other teams be? Who's to say he couldn't completely incinerate them, both literally and metaphorically, just as he did to all the others before?
And yet, like a hoverfly that evaded all attempts to swat it, Blazore's and Magneous' words still remained in the back of his mind, gnawing away at him all the while. He still remembered their stern faces, their voices, blunt like aged Spikel thorns, the pit in his stomach they gave him. He had tried to brush off their words with a shallow promise to do better, which usually was enough to quell them – but this time seemed different, as if they had finally grown resistant to his constant excuses. The memories of their faces only made their words all the more debilitating. Doubt and insecurity began to seep into his mind, seeking to break the impenetrable barrier of his self-confidence.
No matter how hard he tried to reassure himself, to push these thoughts into the deepest, darkest pits of his subconscious, they still remained like a parasite clinging to its host. For the first time he could remember, Pyron felt genuine uncertainty in his abilities as a Mixelball player and a leader – and it drove him insane.
He was one of – no, the best player and the best leader in that entire damned league, and he would prove it.
A loud rumble from below abruptly broke Pyron's train of thought. He turned his head to the right, where he saw one of the district's signature volcanoes erupting violently. These volcanoes, artificially constructed to resemble those of the Magma Wastelands as closely as possible, erupted from time to time, flooding the Infernite District with a torrent of fresh lava. Catastrophic as it may have seemed, however, it was perfectly normal for the fire-wielding inhabitants, and some even enjoyed it, bathing in the lava to revitalize themselves whenever they got the chance.
Pyron watched as the viscous magma flowed down the face of the mountain, casting a warm glow on the surrounding area. It wasn't much, but at least it was something to take his mind off of his current dilemma. Its emulation of his original home offered a comforting sense of familiarity, allowing him to take in the details of what lay beneath him. The sluggish path of the oozing magma, the warmly lit buildings surrounding the mountains, a bonflower tree or two, a glint of red light on the rock face…
Pyron did a double-take.
The Infernite's eyes immediately perked up as he stopped to hover in midair. Whatever it was, be it a trick of the light or some mysterious new object, it had definitely piqued his interest. He couldn't figure out why, but something about the light was oddly alluring. He had never seen it before, and yet he couldn't resist the urge to investigate.
Pyron changed paths, folding in his wings and making a beeline for the volcano. Regardless of what the strange light was, he was certain it was by no means normal. It was a faraway lamp shrouded in mystery, and he was drawn to it like a curious buttermoth.
He reached the mountain relatively quickly; months of training had molded him into a flier of unmatched speed. Taking care to avoid the lava, he carefully descended, perching on a small plateau. The light was much more distinct now, although upon closer inspection it seemed to be buried within a small cairn, though not enough to obstruct its glare.
With one of his wings, the Infernite brushed away the rocks, allowing more and more of the light passage. As the light was fully unveiled, Pyron's eyes gleamed like rubies at what he saw lying before him.
In front of him was the source of the mysterious light, its pristine surface unobstructed and untarnished: a large, bright red Cubit shard.
Pyron was nothing short of awestruck. The shard was unlike anything he'd ever seen. It seemed far older than any other Cubit, yet bore a surface that looked as if it was handcrafted by the Maximum Mixel itself. It was also strangely large, too large for a normal Cubit, he noted.
Pyron poked at the shard with one of his claws, examining its shape, taking note of the soft glow that emanated from its core.
The more he gazed at the Cubit shard, the stronger Pyron's temptation to take it grew. It was entirely possible that this was someone else's lost trinket, or a missing part of someone's jewel collection. Then again, it was sitting here, totally abandoned with no one else in sight. If he were to take it, what's the worst that could happen?
After quickly ensuring he was completely alone, Pyron grabbed the shard with his wing, concealing it completely. The instant he picked it up, the energy within grew almost tenfold, its surface burning almost as intensely as his own wings.
It was impossible to find the proper word for it, but there was…something about this Cubit shard that made it even more mysterious. Some sort of power, lurking deep, deep within. Something vibrant, yet incredibly ancient at the same time. Something legendary.
"So the shard has been finally reclaimed…let us see what you have to offer, young successor. But be warned…the power you now wield is one beyond your wildest dreams. Use it wisely and nobly…for the sake of the world."
Pyron looked around frantically, startled. The voice seemed as if it was speaking from far away, and yet he could hear it reverberating throughout his mind. It shocked him to his very core. "Hello?" he called out, his guard up. "Who's there?"
Pyron turned to the shard encased in his wing, still glowing vividly. As he stared at it, suspicion brewed in his mind. That voice couldn't have come from nowhere, and there wasn't anyone immediately nearby, especially all the way up here. So could it have been his brain tricking itself?
Was the Cubit shard itself talking to him just then?
Pyron cleared away the intrusive thoughts. There was a lot on his mind at the moment anyway, so it was best not to find something else to worry about. He would just have to leave deciphering the mystery of this shard for tomorrow, when he would be sufficiently energized.
Tossing up the shard, he swiftly grabbed it with his tail, wrapping it around the ore like a porcucobra ensnaring its prey. Spreading his wings, Pyron took off once more, leaving cinders in his wake. Even now, he still felt the aftershocks of the sudden mysterious voice, but his spirit remained strong regardless. If he could assert his title as the famed captain of the Trailblazers, Pyron could do anything – even if it was uncovering the truth behind a stray Cubit shard.