Fire took over the world, becoming the world itself.
The air burned as the leaves sizzled and disappeared. The branches took fire and turned into ash, and the trunks receded, charred holes eroding their texture.
The very ground crackled, the grass growing on it long gone as a scorched wasteland expanded. Fire conquered the world, molding it in its image.
It was unclear whether that was a spell. At times, even Lancelot struggled to see the difference. His unique element made that gap fluid, occasionally ignoring it completely.
Of course, Lancelot also had an abundant arsenal, on top of extensive battle training. The Secret Jade Sect had stopped at nothing to maximize his inborn potential.
Nevertheless, Lancelot was a whimsical creature. He might have mastered countless battle strategies, but his passion remained his main driving force, one that could create techniques from nothing, showing the limits of reason and wisdom.
