The ruins ahead buzzed with neon static. Mateo's group followed the flicker of half-dead signs until they reached a barricade: towers of welded scrap, broken holo-screens hammered into walls, scavenged wires sparking faint blue. Beyond it, shanties clung together — steel and relic shards stitched into a fragile village.
The smell struck first — smoke, sweat, panic. Then came the sound: screaming, boots pounding, children wailing. The village was under siege.
From the outskirts poured abominations that had once been human. Bodies grafted with iron and wire, mouths torn open and held by steel pins, eyes burning like broken headlights. Some crawled on six limbs, others staggered upright, wielding rebar like clubs. Their cries glitched, half-animal, half-static.
Jun whispered, horror plain in his voice. "Those… used to be people?"
Ramon's blade hummed as he drew it. "Not anymore."
The barricade shook as the first monster crashed against it. Villagers panicked, firing scavenged rifles, swinging pipes, but their efforts broke like waves against a cliff. The creatures climbed, tearing at the walls with claws and cables.
And then the air shifted.
Heat rolled across the street like a tide. From the village center stepped a young man — lean, scarred, smoke rising from his skin. His hair jutted in wild tufts, his bare chest marked with burns that looked like ritual brands. His fists clenched, and fire flared alive, untamed, spilling sparks across the ground.
"Andoy," someone breathed. Half relief, half dread.
He gave no answer. His eyes burned amber, caught between fury and exhaustion. He walked forward, each step scorching black trails into the pavement.
The first monster leapt the barricade. Andoy met it with his fist. The blow detonated like thunder. Fire burst outward, melting circuits and searing flesh. The abomination collapsed in an inferno. The barricade caught fire, villagers screaming as flames raced the walls.
Another beast lashed out with cables. Andoy seized them, his arm igniting. Flame roared down the wires into its chest. It convulsed, sparks flying, before falling in molten ruin.
More swarmed.
Andoy moved like living chaos. His fists cracked with fire, each strike an explosion. His right hook turned one horror into slag. His knee shattered another's ribcage, flame bursting from the wound. He spun, both fists blazing, and a shockwave of heat blasted attackers back.
The villagers cheered — yet fear rooted them. The fire spared none; it scorched walls, singed bystanders, spread wherever his fury struck. His rage was power, but also peril.
Mateo watched intently. The flames were not wholly wild — deep within them shimmered threads of gold, faint but real, as if something higher restrained the blaze. Liwayway noticed too, whispering, "Not only rage. Someone has leashed the fire."
Still, the edge was perilously close.
One creature slipped past him, charging toward the huts where children hid. Mateo shouted, but Andoy was faster. With a roar, he thrust both fists forward. Fire streamed like a cannon, engulfing the monster mid-run. The children screamed, but lived.
When the smoke thinned, the street lay silent, a graveyard of slag and ash. The barricade stood half-charred, the ground glowing faint red with heat.
Andoy dropped to his knees, fists dimming, smoke curling from his skin. He was alive, but spent.
Whispers spread.
"He saved us.""Cursed fire.""Burns everything, even us."
Andoy stared at his hands as though they were weapons he could not discard.
Mateo stepped forward. His voice carried through the murmurs. "That fire spared more than it harmed. You see a curse, but I see mercy hidden in rage — flame that shields as well as destroys."
Andoy's gaze lifted. For a moment, something softened there. "If that's true… then maybe I'm more than a weapon."
Ramon set a heavy hand on his shoulder, unflinching at the heat. "You fight like a storm. Fight with us."
Jun smirked. "Better with us than against us, right?"
Liwayway only said, "Threads of the divine in flame. No accident."
The villagers remained uneasy, but none opposed.
Andoy rose, fists still faintly glowing. "I'll come. If only to test your words. Better my fire burn your enemies than my own kin."
The fellowship nodded.
Behind them, the village smoldered — safe, but scarred. The abominations were ash and melted steel. In their place stood Andoy: fire incarnate, not tamed, not safe, but necessary.
The city beyond still breathed neon and shadow, waiting. And now, the fellowship carried fire with them.