A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 5952

"Earthfire True Scripture—ultimate forbidden art, True Flame Scorches the Heavens, Sun Incarnation!" Gerald's roar rolled across the ruin like liquid thunder; every syllable hissed, spat, and curled upward as though the words themselves caught fire.

"Ancestor, no!" Jared’s throat shredded itself on the plea; blood-flecked spit mixed with tears that burned hotter than the air.

He lunged a step, knees wobbling, and knew even as he moved that he would never reach Gerald in time.

The title of that technique pulsed through Jared’s memory—last line of the Scripture, the page everyone treated as legend.

Burn away flesh, spirit, and every sliver of cultivation; trade an entire lifetime for a single, god-breaking blaze.

When the fire spent itself, nothing remained—not ashes, not a soul to wander.

The thought arrived alongside the sight: too late.

Gerald stood inside a pillar of white fire so bright Jared’s eyes watered red. Cloth vanished first, fluttering into sparks. Then skin, muscle, bone—each layer dripping away like wax on an invisible candle.

The roar of the blaze swallowed every other sound until Jared could no longer hear his own heartbeat.

But the fire did not lash outward. It tilted, curious, then surged toward him, a tidal river of molten light.

Heat slammed into his chest first, then broke every dam inside him. Earthfire True Flame tangled with his ragged chaotic celestial energy, with the fragments of five-element power, with the stubborn roar of his Golden Dragon blood.

The collision hurt worse than the wounds already killing him, yet he felt something mighty and unfamiliar unfolding beneath the agony.

"Kid… live." The words dropped straight into Jared’s mind, no louder than a whisper, yet heavy enough to bend his knees.

"Carry my share of living."

"Earthfire Pavilion’s future is yours now."

Each promise hammered deeper than a command; they felt like parts of Gerald’s soul welding themselves to Jared’s spine.

The voice ebbed, pulled away by the blaze.

Where Gerald had stood, nothing lingered—not a scorch mark, not even a curl of smoke.

An era ended in silence more absolute than any mourning bell.

Inside him, power convulsed—vast, rolling, unstoppable.

It was not merely energy flooding veins; it was every principle of fire sharpening, rising, rewriting what his body understood as possible.

Earthfire True Essence, the distillation of Gerald’s lifetime, crashed through broken meridians, tearing weaknesses apart so stronger forms could bloom.

Strength followed pain, and the pain was endless.

Heat pulsed through Jared’s chest, knitting shredded organs, soldering splintered ribs. Deeper still, the incoming force brushed his own chaotic celestial energy, his five-element power, and the dormant Golden Dragon Bloodline, making them vibrate like touched harp strings.

Inside the dantian’s dark vault, the nearly shattered Origin Star wobbled like cracked glass, then steadied as Earthfire True Essence drenched it—thick, molten, and reassuring, as though magma had turned into a healer’s hand.

Bright veins raced across the fractures, stitching themselves shut. Dull shimmer brightened to silver, then burst toward a brilliance so keen he almost flinched from a light that existed only inside him.

Bands of gold, green, blue, scarlet, and ocher rolled over the star’s surface, each hue a living current trying to speak its own language through color.

Within the core, a hazy swirl of primal mist chased itself in tightening circles, waiting for permission to erupt.

Outside, red-gold Earthfire True Flame licked the star like a patient forge, heat pressing outward as though it wanted to sculpt the darkness into armor.

A thread of almost-silent draconic song drifted up from the star’s deepest chamber, the Golden Dragon Bloodline stretching in its sleep, beginning to remember its own name.

The four powers—each once stubbornly separate—slowly leaned toward one another, coaxed by Gerald’s life-for-life offering. His fading heartbeat echoed in the heat, insisting they learn to breathe together.

He couldn’t dam the sound. Aaah—! ripped from his throat, raw and involuntary.

His neck arched; he threw the cry upward, as if the ceiling of the cavern might answer or at least witness the pain hidden inside the power.

This was no knife wound; it was creation in progress, bone and sinew arguing with a flood too big for them.

He felt every cell split, reconsider itself, and solder back stronger. Meridians stretched like wires pulled taut, then thickened, iron replacing twine. Even his spirit tightened, grains packing into steel.

His breath became a wind tunnel, each exhale louder, the pressure stacking higher and higher inside the chamber of his chest.

The invisible wall that had caged him at the top of Level Four tore like wet paper, fragments dissolving before they hit the floor.

Power settled for half a heartbeat, announcing Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Five with the certainty of sunrise.

But the surge only crouched, gathering for another leap.

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