"Fourth Wave: Flame."
The words came with no warning. No transition. Just a simple declaration.
And then the world burned.
It began with a flicker in the air, an unnatural shimmer, like the trembling of space itself.
Damien felt it in the marrow of his bones before he saw it. The atmosphere thickened around him, as though reality had been soaked in oil, and something, some ancient match, had just been struck.
Fire erupted from the heavens, not falling as flame, but as molten judgment. It did not crackle, did not roar. It hissed, high and sharp, like a scream that came not from a throat but from the soul of the world itself.
The sky tore open, and from it fell torrents of hellfire, searing, radiant and burning.
This was not fire born of nature. Not conjured from wood or air or spark.
This was cleansing fire, forged not to destroy structures or forests, but to erase essence.
