"They say your flame reflects your soul...
...But what if my soul doesn't want to burn at all?"— Renzo Guevara
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BOOM.
The wall shattered two feet beside him, fire licking the edges of shattered concrete. Renzo flinched, but didn't run. He stood in the alleyway, breathing heavy, his eyes locked onto the figure walking through smoke.
"Renzo Guevara," the stranger growled, body radiating orange heat, fists alight. "They said you had it. I want to see it for myself."
Renzo stepped back slowly, feeling the world tighten around him. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He didn't even know this guy. All he wanted was to grab his sister's medicine and go home.
"I don't want to fight," he said calmly, raising his hands.
"You don't have a choice."
The first punch came like a comet — blazing and loud. Renzo barely dodged, hitting the ground with a roll, his hand grazing hot gravel. Pain. Sharp and real.
He didn't scream. He didn't cry.
But something inside him cracked.
Not again. Not again.
His vision blurred. His chest burned. But it wasn't fear.
It was fury.
A heat crawled up his wrist. Red light began to glow from his palm — small at first, then flaring like a flare in the night.
FSSSSHHH.
Fire. Real fire. From his skin.
The other user's eyes widened. "You—! You just awakened—"
But Renzo didn't hear the rest. The flame coiled around his hand like a serpent. Hot. Angry. Alive.
For the first time in his life, he wasn't just feeling anger.
He was becoming it.
He lunged.
---
To be continue...