By Evelyn Ember The dusk-blood sky over Cinderopolis had barely begun to bruise when the Onyx Infernum slid to the curb with

Hi! I’m Mischief Malachite, age “don’t ask unless you want your eyebrows singed,” and today I’m reviewing the Scorch-O-Matic Doom Yo-Yo Deluxe

By Evelyn Ember In the smoldering sprawl of Cinderusalem, where alleyways hiss like vipers and hope is usually served charred, two unlikely

By Hank Hellbound, booming live from the Scorchboard Desk Welcome back to the pit, pyromaniacs! The brimstone’s bubbling, the lava clocks read

By Vernon Vexfire In the blistered harbors of Stygian Shallows, Supreme Pyromancer Blight Rumble announced a full naval chokehold on the Emberian

Citizens of the Soot-Republic, it is I, Quinn Qryptic—your favorite sulfur-soaked truth flinger—broadcasting from a lava-proof chaise lounge behind the third stalagmite

By Evelyn Ember In the smoldering labyrinth of Brimstone Borough, where alleyways glow like open braziers and tenements lean like tired pyres,

By Vincent Volcano, retired Hellwood arsonist of emotions, scarf blazing and patience extinguished. Flames Fade, but Classics Burn Forever! Premise check: the

By Vernon Vexfire CINDERSHADE, NETHERMAHARA—The Iron Sultan of Ashkra—our realm’s tireless self-branding machine and chief handshaker of dubious dignitaries—returned from a photo-op