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The key was to not be straightforward in his approach. Trying to overpower the Pit during times like this was a fool's errand. It had pride, which he needed to respect, or else it would rebel and attempt to establish its dominance over him.

He'd made that mistake only once.

It had taken him a year to fully recover, because it had ripped Bool away from him like the cheese out of a ham sandwich--and then continually used the reaper against him as a hostage. Getting the Pit to trust him again had been one of the most difficult and obnoxious things he'd ever done. It involved a lot of gifts and even more negotiating--and finally, another fight in which Morgunov had been able to reassert his own dominance again, thanks to many, many preparations.

That same trick wouldn't work on him again, of course, but Morgunov did not wish to test the Pit's ingenuity. Just as he had grown and changed over the years, so had the Pit. In fact, because he had grown and changed, so had the Pit.

At this point, it was most certainly a reflection of himself, in many ways. Disrespecting it meant disrespecting himself.

And he hated being disrespected.

So no. While Morgunov might normally consider something like this a challenge to be overcome, the Clown Pit was different. Special. Deserving of his fear and admiration. But also counterbalanced against his own pride, lest the Pit see weakness and try to reestablish its dominance again.

A difficult balancing act, to be sure.

Here and now, he had to guide the forge's raging energy rather than oppose or smother it with his own. A gentle touch. This spark here. That bolt there. This flame over there.

Walking through the inferno like this, time was almost a non-factor. It slowed. Or bent, perhaps. Stretched. In accordance with his and the forge's unified wills.

He let the flow speak to him. The Pit was telling him a story. He needed but listen. He needed to hold truth. To understand.

A memory. No. A fear? Yes. A memory from the future, one might call it. Easy to mix up.

He saw a great pillar filling the sky, rising up into the clouds. Where had it come from? He looked toward the base. Its foundation. Down and down. So far down.

At length, he recognized the area. It was this same place, the area around the compound that housed this very workshop.