The air hung heavy with the crackling remnants of the ritual. Takashi stood, heart pounding, amidst the destruction left behind by the cultists. The black flames continued to flicker, neither growing nor fading, seemingly eternal. Unlike normal flames, that leave after a while this one didn't seem like the kind to do that—it was just a haunting, undyinga presence.
Suddenly, a deafening explosion rocked the night. Takashi's eyes widened. The sound would have drawn attention. Without hesitation, he darted into the shadows, searching for a hiding spot. An old abandoned building nearby would do. He slipped inside, finding a vantage point from which he could observe without being seen.
It wasn't long before they arrived.
It wasn't long before the armored figures of the Radiant Order appeared, their silver and white uniforms gleaming even under the dim light of the ruined ritual site. Kurogane Akira led the group, his reputation as the captain who possessed the rare red flame well-known throughout the land. Many whispered about his flame's unparalleled power, and even Takashi had once believed that it was his rare ability that earned him such a high position at the age of twenty-four.
But now, as Takashi watched, he saw more than just the power of a rare flame. He saw why Akira had truly become captain.
Akira stepped forward, his expression calm, focused. The black flames continued to flicker, defying the laws of normal pyrokinesis. His men hung back, unsure of how to approach such an unnatural fire. But Akira didn't hesitate.
Kurogane Akira's flames didn't manifest like others'—his red fire didn't erupt outwardly, seeking to consume. Instead, it enveloped him, a quiet, controlled inferno that wrapped around his entire body. His hands glowed with a soft red light as he stretched them toward the black flames, his movements deliberate, commanding.
Akira's ability was unique. His flames didn't burn outward; they controlled the flames of others. With a simple motion, he could extinguish fire or nullify any pyrokinesis thrown his way. His power didn't overwhelm through brute force—it silenced.
But as Akira's hand extended toward the black flames, something unexpected happened. The black fire continued to burn. It didn't react to his nullification powers, refusing to be snuffed out by his control. His red flame, while capable of extinguishing almost any other fire in existence, had no effect on this one.
Takashi watched from the shadows, his breath caught in his throat. Even Kurogane Akira, with his terrifying ability to cancel out flame attacks, couldn't douse the black flames. The other members of the Radiant Order exchanged uncertain glances as their captain stepped back, his flames dimming.
"What… kind of flame is this?" Akira's lieutenants asked, his voice laced with disbelief.
Akira's sharp eyes flicked toward the still-burning fire. He didn't respond, but the slight tension in his jawline showed that he, too, was unsettled by what he had seen. This fire was different, beyond anything they had ever encountered.
From his hiding place, Takashi clenched his fists. The power that had saved him—the black flames—was more than just unusual. It was beyond even the control of the mighty Radiant Order.
"I need to get out of here," Takashi whispered to himself, realizing the danger he was in. The Order would tear the city apart if they thought someone was wielding such power.
Quietly, without a trace, Takashi slipped away into the night, knowing that this was only the beginning of something far bigger than he could have imagined.
Takashi ran through the dimly lit streets, his feet pounding against the pavement as adrenaline coursed through his veins. The sounds of chaos faded behind him, replaced by the echo of his thoughts.
Why did everything always go wrong?
He remembered the twisted faces of the cultists, the weight of their chanting pressing down on him, and the moment the blade had glinted in the flickering firelight. It had been a nightmare. But this wasn't the first time misfortune had found him.
He turned a corner, breathing heavily, and his mind drifted to memories he'd buried deep. The only family he'd ever known was the orphanage that had raised him. Its cold, sterile walls felt more like a prison than a home.
The caretakers had whispered tales about his mother, how she had vanished shortly after giving birth to him, and about his father, who had abandoned them both before he even had a chance to exist. The more he thought about it, the more he felt like a ghost, wandering through life without a purpose, without a family to call his own. The only constant was the pain that clung to him like a shadow.
What kind of life is this?
He ducked into an alley and leaned against the cold brick wall, closing his eyes. What if it had been better if I had never been born? The thought twisted in his gut like a knife. Would anyone even care?
He had tried to carve a path for himself, taking on a part-time job to support his meager existence, but even that had spiraled into chaos. The humdrum of daily life felt like a facade, hiding the swirling storm beneath.
With a shaky breath, he pushed off the wall and started walking again. Every step brought him closer to home, but with each passing moment, doubt gnawed at him. Would he ever be free of this cycle of pain? This world of flames and powers was nothing but a distraction from the reality of his life—a life marked by loss and loneliness.
As he walked, he couldn't shake the memory of the black flames that had erupted from within him. What did it mean? Why had he awakened a power like that, something that could strike fear even into the hearts of the Radiant Order?
"Why me?" he whispered to the night, as if the darkness could offer him answers. The chill in the air wrapped around him, but he felt nothing. Not the cold, not the loneliness—only a deep, hollow ache.
He arrived at his modest apartment, a run-down place that mirrored his life—a mere shell of what it could have been. The door creaked open, revealing the dim interior. It was cluttered and unkempt, much like his thoughts.
Takashi stepped inside and locked the door behind him, leaning against it for support. His eyes wandered around the small space, landing on the framed photograph of his mother. It was the only picture he had, and he often found himself talking to it when the silence became unbearable.
"Mom, why did you leave me?" he murmured, sinking onto the couch. "Was I not enough? Did you wish I had never been born?"
He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of tears he refused to let fall. He couldn't afford to be weak. Not now, not with the Crimson Collective targeting him.
The thought sent a shiver down his spine. They had wanted him for a reason, and the echoes of their chants still reverberated in his mind. Amon—the name alone was enough to conjure dread.
Would they come after him again? Would he be forced to fight for his life once more?
In the stillness of the room, Takashi felt a flicker of something he hadn't felt in a long time—determination. He didn't want to be a victim of fate any longer. He couldn't change his past, but he could shape his future.
Tomorrow, he would seek answers. He would learn about the black flame within him and what it meant to possess such a power. He wouldn't let the darkness win; he would fight back against whatever came his way.
The storm inside him began to calm, and for the first time, he felt a sense of purpose.
"Things are going to change," he vowed quietly, determination coursing through him like a flame igniting in the night.
With a heavy heart but newfound resolve, Takashi lay back on the couch and closed his eyes, ready to face whatever awaited him in the days to come.