When you wander the sewer district long enough, there’s one street you’ll stumble across that even the most hardened locals avoid. A place where the groans never stop, where bodies lie like discarded husks across the ground. Some curled into themselves like children, others splayed out with eyes wide open, staring at nothing. The stink hits first, something sweet and sickly that seeps from the mouths of the motionless. Their pupils blown wide, skin clammy, twitching with phantom sensations.

They lie there with mouths half-open, their expressions frozen in a haze of detached euphoria, or silent screaming. They don’t even notice passersby. Or if they do, they stare through them, lips parted in that eerie, slack-jawed grin.

Then, suddenly, 

“Ugh, ughuh! H-Hurk! A monster! A monster!”

One of them jerks upright with a shriek, and without warning, wraps trembling hands around the throat of the person beside him. The other doesn’t resist, Doesn’t scream, Doesn’t even blink.

“Heehee… heeheehee…”

A wheezing laugh leaks from his lips, like air escaping a punctured bladder. He doesn’t seem to know he’s being strangled.

Elsewhere, another stabs at their own stomach, screeching about bugs crawling under their skin. Someone else slams their head against the wall in a rhythmic thud-thud-thud, claiming the pressure in their brain is unbearable.

The street is a gallery of madness. Of bodies that haven’t yet realized they’re dying. Of minds slipping into oblivion.

“What the hell happened here…?”

Andre’s voice was low, wary. He was no stranger to the sewer. He’d grown up in this filth, breathed the same rot-scented air. He’d seen drug abuse, hell, he’d helped clean up the aftermath more than once. But this…

This was something else entirely.

This was an epidemic.

And in the middle of it all

“Out of the way.”

The command came low, bored, but it sliced through the noise like a blade. The prince stepped forward, sword drawn and gleaming. And with him came heat. Not just warmth, but pressure; thick and oppressive, as if the very air recoiled from his presence. Madness stirred in his wake, and the very ground seemed to tremble.

Even in the filthiest, most chaotic bar in the sewer, he’d stood out. But now? Now he was a storm given form.

“Uhhhhh… uuugh…” “Make it stop! Please, please, I need more, more, more!”

The addicts writhed on the ground, clutching their throats as if trying to wrench out the emptiness inside. They screamed for mercy, for relief, for another taste.

Their eyes found the prince, drawn to the source of heat, of power, of pain.

“Stop! Stooop!” “Don’t come any closer! I said stay back!”

Their voices cracked into screeches, dry and brittle. Madness gave way to terror.

Some didn’t just scream. Some got up; shakily, limbs flailing like puppets on tangled strings and lunged.

“Clear out the rabble.” “At once.”

’s voice was indifferent. Andre moved instantly. He didn’t need to draw blood. Not yet. Instead, he gripped his sheathed sword and began knocking them aside with practiced efficiency. Each blow rang out loud in the narrow street, a symphony of bone and wood. 

“Thwack. Crack. Thunk.”

The first few times, it had turned his stomach,watching these poor bastards get up again, twitching, crawling, eyes blank.

But now?

Now, he almost felt sorry for them. Andre’s face twisted with disgust and pity. Behind him,  walked through it all.

“Step. Step. Step.”

His boots crunched on broken needles and discarded wrappers, through vomit and old blood. He didn’t spare them a glance. The heat pulsed stronger with every step, curling the air around him like a mirage. People parted, those too delirious to move on their own were shoved aside by others, screaming.

As Andre battled back wave after wave,  moved without resistance, his pace unhurried, uncaring.

They reached the end of the street. A building stood there, ramshackle but tall, a stack of stories threatening to collapse on itself. The windows were dark. No signs. No names. But it reeked.

“How many is this now?”

“The eleventh, sir.”

Andre’s breath came heavy, but his tone remained calm. He shoved a man off ’s shoulder with a grunt. This was the last one. The final location, given to them by the so-called ‘master’ of the Sanctuary. With a soft hiss,  drew his sword. From his palm, flame uncoiled. It danced along the blade like a living thing, flickering eagerly as it climbed higher. It was beautiful. Terrible. He raised the sword, and brought it down.

The flames leapt.

They didn’t just spread, they consumed. They struck the building like a predator and began feasting.

“What the,?! Who the hell lit a fire?!” Voices from inside, frantic. Doors slammed open.

’s sword moved. He didn’t wait to see who was armed, who wasn’t.

Anyone who held a weapon, anyone whose stance suggested even a whisper of threat, was cut down.

Steel flashed. Blood followed.

“Ssssshhhh,!” Flesh cooked. The scent filled the alley.

Even if he wasn’t as refined as a trained knight, his blade was swift, deadly.

“ARGH!” “What the,who are y,urk!”

These weren’t warriors. They were back-alley scum, dealers and enforcers with more ego than skill. They didn’t stand a chance. Every swing brought a cry. Every strike drew blood.

The flames that followed him hissed as they burned away the filth on his clothes. Blood couldn’t touch him. The fire devoured it.

A crimson mist began to fill the air, thick and suffocating. In the middle of it, his eyes burned. Red, glowing, filled with madness. Even sewer-born scum who’d lived in waste and blood their whole lives flinched. He looked like a devil torn straight from the pit. And still the building burned. All who had tried to stand against him, gone.

Then,

A scream. Sharp. Piercing.

“GYAAAAAH!”

Far in the back, shadows flickered, people running, their clothes and skin ablaze, limbs flailing. Dolls. Human dolls, lit like torches. They’d tried to flee through the rear. But ’s fire was alive. It moved like it had a purpose, a will. It curled, chased, hunted. Even the runners were caught. Even they were consumed.

One by one, they fell. The fire finished its feast. The only sound left was crackling.

“…As expected.”

Andre’s voice was quiet now. Flat.

All that remained were the people forced to work here, those dragged from slums and corners of the sewer, made to stir powders and press pills. They stood like ghosts in the smoky haze, shaking.

“Gather the innocent. Move the goods.”

’s voice came down like a sentence. Under Andre’s command, the survivors moved. Shakily, but with purpose. No one questioned. Before long, the factory was empty. No people. No product. Just smoke and ash.

“Fwoooosh.”

 exhaled. The fire died. No rain had fallen. No water had touched it. But from first spark to last flicker, the fire had obeyed only him.

Andre remembered the forest, the wildfire that had nearly swallowed the world. Back then, it had been fury. Wild. Untamed. Now, it had grown. Evolved.

 wasn’t just wielding fire.

He was fire.

“Let’s go. Dawn is coming.”

The prince turned, not waiting. Andre hesitated, eyes drawn to the bodies, the ash, the eyes of the ones who lived. The fury still burned behind ’s gaze.

Tonight, in the sewer, a great flame had risen, and it was far from done.