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, old holo-screens smashed into walls, scavenged wires sparking faint blue. Behind it lay a cluster of shanties stitched together from steel and relic shards.
The smell hit them first — smoke, sweat, panic. Then the sound: screaming, boots pounding, children crying. The village was under siege.
From the dark outskirts poured things that weren't supposed to exist. Their bodies were patchworks of meat and machine, bone drilled with steel rods, mouths wired open, eyes glowing like broken headlights. Some crawled on six limbs, others staggered upright, carrying pieces of rebar like weapons. Their screams glitched, part-animal, part-static.
Jun blurted, "What the hell—those used to be people?"
Ramon's blade hummed. "Not anymore."
The barricade shook as the first monster slammed into it. Villagers panicked, firing scavenged rifles, swinging pipes, but they were outmatched. The creatures climbed, tearing at the walls with claws and cables.
And then the air changed.
Heat rolled across the street like a wave. From the center of the village stepped a young man — lean, scarred, smoke rising from his skin. His hair stuck in wild tufts, his bare chest marked with burns that looked almost ritual. His fists clenched, and they lit. Fire burst alive, raw and untamed, spilling sparks across the ground.
"Andoy," someone whispered. Half relief, half dread.
He didn't answer. His eyes glowed faint amber, caught between fury and exhaustion. He walked forward until the flames scorched black trails into the pavement.
The first monster leapt the barricade. Andoy swung. His fist connected with a sound like thunder, and fire detonated outward. Circuits melted, flesh cracked, the thing collapsed in an inferno. The barricade itself caught fire, villagers screaming as they scrambled to smother the flames.
Another beast rushed him, a mass of cables snapping like whips. Andoy grabbed the cables, and his entire arm ignited. Flame roared down the wires, into its chest — it convulsed, sparks flying, until it collapsed, half-molten.
More swarmed.
He moved like chaos in motion — fists punching, flames exploding. Every strike lit up the night in brutal orange. His right hook turned one abomination into slag. His knee strike burst another's ribcage into fire. He spun, both fists flaring, and a shockwave of heat blasted attackers back.
The villagers cheered, but they also shrank away, terrified. The fire didn't care what it touched — it spread across steel, licked at walls, singed anyone too close. His rage was power, but also risk.
Mateo watched intently. The flames weren't just wild — deep inside them, faint threads of gold shimmered, as if something higher guided the destruction, keeping it from consuming everything. Liwayway noticed too; she whispered, "Not just rage. Someone gave him a leash."
Still, he burned dangerously close to losing it.
One creature slipped past him, charging toward the huts where children hid. Mateo opened his mouth, but Andoy was faster. He roared, both fists thrust forward, and fire streamed from him like a cannon. It hit the monster mid-run, engulfing it before it reached the huts. The children cried but lived.
By the time the smoke cleared, the street was a graveyard of slag and ash. The barricade stood half-charred. The ground glowed faint red with heat.
Andoy dropped to his knees, fists dimming, smoke curling from his skin. He was alive, but drained.
Silence fell. Then whispers spread through the villagers.
"Saved us."
"Cursed fire."
"Burns everything, even us."
Andoy's face tightened. He looked at his hands as though they were loaded guns.
Mateo stepped forward. His voice cut through the murmurs. "That fire saved more than it harmed. You think it a curse, but I see more — I see rage with mercy inside it. Flames that guard, not just destroy."
Andoy's eyes met his. For a moment, something softened in them. "If that's true, then maybe I'm more than a weapon."
Ramon placed 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, "Divine threads in fire. It is not accident."
The villagers still looked uneasy, but none dared oppose. Andoy rose, fists still faintly glowing. "I'll come. If only to see if you're right. Better my fire burn your enemies than my own people."
The group nodded.
Behind them, the village smoldered, safe but scarred. The monsters were gone, reduced to ash and melted steel. And 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.