~Cleoi, Oxzy's apartment~
The hero ran at the speed of light, dropping the bag in his hand as he jumped up into his window to the living room. He was greeted with hot flames hitting his skin, his pale flesh beginning to burn, bringing back lost memories. Oxzy tried to shut them out, putting his energy into the ice that came from his fingertips.
The fire slowly began to die down. Smoke rose, black and trapped beneath the roof, hitting the walls in attempts to escape. Oxzy turned around, extinguishing all the fire in his line of sight.
When the fire finally seemed to be put out, the hero scanned his burnt apartment. His eyes landed on his littered, damaged belongings; everything had been turned upside down. It looked like a bomb had gone off in his home. Not just the living room and kitchen — Oxzy ran down the hall to his room.
The room was also torn apart. His belongings were burnt to a crisp, things thrown around with charred bits falling off. The hero looked past the wreckage, keeping his eyes open for only two things.
Cirilla May and Kamari. The two creatures had to be in there; the hero put so much hope into believing they were alright. With that hope driving his frantic search, his eyes caught a small moving rodent.
Kamari was running past his legs. The small furry creature looked fine besides some ashes on her brown fur. Oxzy knelt down to look at her, and she let out a squealing sound when he tried to pick her up. The hero watched her run off from his hand, disappearing under a long wooden panel that had fallen from the roof.
The hero lifted the wooden panel, searching for the small rodent, but instead found the limp body of his cat.
Cirilla May lay limp on the ground. Black ash littered her fur, and blood leaked from her nose. Her body looked crushed, with no movement in response to the hero's choked realization.
The wooden panel fell from his hand, and his whole body sank to the floor. His hands slowly wrapped themselves around the small creature's body. Still no response. Oxzy held her to his chest, clutching her softly, hoping desperately for some sign of life.
There was none.
Cirilla lay dead in his arms. He clutched her tightly as everything hit him at once, the realization that the small creature in his hands would never respond again. She would never respond again.
He cried out loudly, his head bowing forward. He curled over her, his whole body shielding the cat for nothing.
Oxzy sobbed into her fur, cries of desperation spilling out. He wept over and over for her loss — the last thing that had kept him sane, that had kept him grounded after Genna had passed, now lifeless in his arms.
The small, gentle creature didn't deserve this. Her limp body was filled with crushed bones; no breath remained in her. She couldn't comfort the hero anymore. She had nothing left to give.
Oxzy stayed on the ground in the burnt, ruined apartment for minutes. Hot tears kept falling from his tightly shut eyes as he tried to endure the pain, falling again and again along with choked sobs. He didn't even notice the fire department's arrival.
Police sirens sounded from outside, flashing red and blue lights unable to pull him from his grief. He had lost Cirilla May, and most likely Kamari too — the small rodent had fled the burnt building, finding safety in the sewers, away from her broken master.
The firemen cleared the last of the fire, walking outside the hero's room, their heavy boots pounding an echo through the apartment. Their loud, gruff voices reached him all at once.
"Was it only this apartment?"
"It was a target. One of the bystanders saw a group of gangsters do it."
The conversation drifted in and out, mentioning the police questioning witnesses about who had caused the fire. It was clear who did it, and why. Once they realized it was the hero's home, it would be clear to them too.
Anyone from the grubs could have done this. Any gang might seek revenge in some twisted way. The villain could just as easily be responsible. There was a reason Oxzy kept his home secret — to make sure no one knew his life. It had come to nothing; he'd been found out, the evidence burning right in front of him. The police couldn't do anything. It would be up to the hero to handle it himself.
It was expected.
Oxzy stayed huddled up. He should leave — if the men found him in such a state, it would spark questions.
But the hero couldn't move. He felt limp, as though his own bones had been crushed into pieces. His heart felt like it had stopped; he knew there was nothing left.
His home was gone.
His cat was gone.
His mother was gone...
~
~Daylight, the elementary school(years ago)~
It all started with a fire at the elementary school. The cause of the fire was unknown; the station called for the hero to help them. Oxzy came quickly, rushing into the fire without a second thought.
He was burnt and hit by falling bricks, but he kept going. He realized quickly that he was too late to save everyone. The fire spread far too quickly around the classrooms, and children were stuck inside. Even so, Oxzy pushed through.
He used his shoulder to push the doors open, ignoring the purple bruises that grew after every hit, getting children out of the windows. They fled from the fire as the hero kept going.
Turning back around, he did that for every room. He had to run past burnt bodies, keeping his focus on this horrific pattern so he could save as many as possible.
Smoke filled his lungs, knocking him to the ground, but he got back up to continue. Running down the halls to see if he'd missed anyone, he caught sight of a little boy stuck under a fallen door.
Oxzy rushed to him, swiping his hands to shoot the wood away. He turned back toward the exit.
With the boy in his arms, he dashed back the way he came. He felt the fire chasing him, loud popping sounds coming from behind. It sounded like an acceleration, something building up.
The hero quickened his pace and tried to form more ice to help him move faster, but nothing came from his drained body. So he kept running. His legs burned, his body sweating from the heat all around him. He held the whimpering boy closer as the open school doors came into view.
The ceiling above him began to fall, and the popping grew louder—Oxzy knew he had to make it, or he would die. Using as much energy as he could muster, he tilted the floor behind him upward to block the incoming explosion.
"No!"
A tiny scream sounded from behind him. The hero glanced back, his eyes landing on a small girl standing by a fallen door. She looked around frantically, calling out to someone.
The hero heard nothing but the explosion. He was right next to the door when it hit, barely getting the root barrier up in time. Rocks covered the two of them from the blast. The hero landed outside the building, taking the impact to protect the boy in his arms.
Screams came from all around him. His ears bled, a ringing mixing with the cries. Sirens—everything rushed at him as he hit the cement floor.
The boy was taken from his hands, and Oxzy turned to the main entrance. He searched frantically for the little girl, already knowing she hadn't made it. Guilt crashed down on him as he looked back to the ground, a choked sigh escaping his chapped lips.
A louder scream sounded from in front of him. Oxzy looked up, only to be met with a fist crashing into his face. He fell back, trying to register who his attacker was.
With blurred vision, Oxzy saw a weeping woman trying to run into the building, held back by firemen. He realized it was a screaming man who had hit him—also being restrained from attacking the hero.
They were both screaming at him, yelling with despair.
The hero quickly understood why. The girl he'd seen as he dashed out was their daughter. They'd had to watch as Oxzy ran out, the root barrier blocking her path to freedom. She had burned before their eyes, with no chance of escape or help from the hero.
Oxzy had failed to save everyone. The weeping parents, still not reunited with their child, made that failure painfully clear.
~Oakway, Genna's home~
The hero got home after his talk with the station. His body felt sore, his arms hanging limp against his chest. He hoped his mother was asleep—he didn't want her to see him like this. Even so, Oxzy entered the home and found her waiting anyway.
She watched her son come in, drenched in sweat, body hanging low, black ash covering him. Breathing deeply, he leaned against the wall before sliding down through the doorway. Exhaustion finally hit him, and he sank to the floor, coughing and catching his breath.
He relived the day over and over. The little girl screaming. He'd looked back and seen her. But he hadn't gone back for her. The parents' pleading sobs would haunt him forever.
The hero didn't even realize he'd started crying. His head hung low as he tried to choke back his sobs. A warm embrace came over him—his mother wrapped her arms around him, pulling him up into her hold. Oxzy tucked his head into her neck, crying, telling her how badly he'd failed.
Genna gently rocked him, telling him it was okay. She didn't care about the ash falling onto her from him; she rocked him back and forth until his tears stopped, her hands finding their way into his messy hair. She pulled him closer, murmuring softly until Oxzy relaxed in her arms.
Genna helped him off the floor, taking his hand to walk him to the bathroom. She gave her son a soft kiss and told him to wash up before dinner. Oxzy smiled after her, then stepped into a hot shower to get ready.
The next few days passed, and news of the fire and the deaths spread wildly. Two days after the devastating fire, Oxzy had to rush out again to a new fire happening in the Grubs. The hero arrived in time to see a villain on a rampage.
The man looked mad, killing and destroying everything in sight. When the hero arrived, the villain charged at him full force, eyes red, nothing but rage directed at Oxzy.
The villain and hero fought for hours in the longest, bloodiest battle yet. The hero returned home battered, covered in scars and cuts, blood seeping from every wound. Still, he pushed on toward home. It was dark, but a rising fire in the distance caught him completely off guard.
The hero stood watching smoke rise and mix into the clouds. A fire truck rushed past him amid loud shouts—another fire. It had only been a few days since the school burned, then the Grubs caught fire. Now a fire in Oakway?
Something bad had happened, Oxzy realized, and he started running toward his home. His body felt crushed, but he kept moving, not stopping until he reached the house.
House.
It was now a burning pile of smoke.
In a split second, he was running forward, rushing again into a burning building. Fire hit him, ash fell from the roof and mixed into his black hair, and Oxzy looked around frantically. He screamed his mother's name, desperation tearing from his tongue like a grenade ready to blow.
People watched as the hero dashed in. The firemen ran after him, only making it as far as the door before stopping. The hero had an advantage, yet he was also at a disadvantage—the fight with Pierce had drained him, and the fire made it hard to summon any ice. He tried to use the earth beneath him instead.
He had little energy left, but he kept his hope up. He had to find his mother. She was somewhere in the burning building. She had to be alive—she was smart, and Oxzy tried to hold onto that belief. She was alive; he just had to save her.
His head full of worry, he ran up the stairs and felt pressure from above. Heat surged down on him, and his hands shot up just in time to catch a burning panel as it fell.
Still, his feet caught, and he tripped, falling from the stairs to the floor below. His knees hit the ground hard, and he grunted as the fire from the panel seared into his skin. He looked around, smelling something foul.
It smelled like burnt food, close by on his left. Oxzy was right beneath the stairs, and he turned to see what it was. He found a burnt pile of human ashes—still human in shape, skin visible, burnt clothing fused to melted black flesh.
The curly black hair of Genna Raith was what Oxzy saw first.
All at once, his strength left him. His eyes stayed fixed on her burnt body. Ash fell into his eyes, tears spilling from his bloodshot pupils, unmoving, locked on his mother's remains.
How was he supposed to react?
He didn't. He saw it right in front of him—she was dead. She'd died a horrible death, burning alive as she fought for a way out. Nothing remained.
How could she die?
Someone must have killed her.
Oxzy's mother—an angel who had raised a child all by herself—had burned alive in the safety of her own home.
The hero walked outside. His eyes stayed low; he didn't hear the shouting firemen, didn't hear the police. He couldn't hear anything. All he could see was his mother.
It wasn't her. She couldn't be a pile of ash.
She was just waiting for him to wash up before dinner. He needed to clean the blood off his body from the fight, that was all.
No.
She couldn't be dead!
He was the hero. He was supposed to save her. He'd saved everyone in this town without problem, healing from injuries within minutes. He could save her.
But he was too late.
The hero stood outside his burning home. The firemen glanced at him in a delirious state before running past to fight the fire on their own. No one seemed to spare him a second look. Most who lived nearby knew the hero lived there.
Oxzy believed his mother was safe—that she would be safe—but he wanted to know who would—
A familiar shout came from his side. Oxzy finally looked up, meeting the eyes of an enraged woman. Tears streamed down her venom-filled face. She looked ready to kill.
An equally furious man stood beside her, already in handcuffs, surrounded by police. The woman, restrained by an officer, still tried to lunge at Oxzy.
The hero looked back in confusion, trying to register who they were.
Then he realized—they were the parents of the girl from that day. His heart skipped several beats. His eyes dropped to the ground, catching sight of a bottle that looked like it held alcohol, a rag sticking out of its neck.
He knew then what they had done.
Their voices cut deep. They blamed him for failing to save their daughter, so they'd taken it out on his mother—coming to his house, lighting a makeshift bomb, and throwing it inside. They'd watched his home burn, his mother screaming within, trapped in alarm.
Fire coated the windows. She couldn't leave. She was trapped in her own home, surrounded by flames. It engulfed her.
She stood by the stairs, eyes closed, accepting her fate.
The hero felt a burning rage rise inside him. Tears blurred his vision, clouding the sight of the couple before him.
Her words dripped with angry mockery, hurt and pain behind every syllable.
They were hurting. They were furious.
But they had no right to do this. Oxzy kept his eyes forward, wanting to burn them the way they'd burned his mother.
He couldn't help but imagine them dying horrible deaths. He could crush them in half with a tree, forming oak wood around their bodies to suffocate and crush them into mush.
He could cut them in half with ice, spikes piercing straight through their skin, freezing their brains and limbs before shattering them into a pile of frozen blood. He could torture them in every way imaginable.
But his mother wouldn't want that.
She was gone. But Oxzy remembered what she'd always told him—what she'd taught him about his power.
The hero kept his true feelings hidden behind a mask. He wanted to kill the couple. It didn't matter how much pain they carried, how angry they were over their loss. It meant NOTHING to him.
He couldn't let anyone know that.
So he lied.
His body felt stiff; he didn't want to do this. He wanted to let his true thoughts loose. But instead, the hero knelt on one knee. It throbbed with bruises, blood forming and soaking through the fabric.
His hair hung over his face, hiding the truth from view.
Oxzy stayed kneeling before his mother's killers. Only a small voice broke the silence.
"I'm sorry."
~
~Daylight, ruined old home~
Oxzy stood above his mother's grave. He was back in Oakway, in the morning light after the events of the previous night, standing in the place she had last been—her safest place, and also where she'd been killed.
Oxzy had reserved the rights to the land where their old house once stood. It was now a blank zone, with no houses or buildings for several blocks. Overgrown trees loomed around the space, blocking it with their height. The ground was a mixture of dirt and old ash.
Oxzy rarely visited. It reminded him of the loss that still hurt too much, infecting his mind with outrageous thoughts. Every time he remembered what happened here, he felt himself edging toward a frenzy.
Screaming, killing, destroying anything and anyone close to him.
He had ended up tearing apart the environment. A few old broken trees lay sprawled around his space, covering the empty area. The green surroundings had become nothing but trash on the ground; the bark was broken apart and torn in two.
Oxzy had caused all the damage. A burst of power and emotion had escaped him when he buried her. He tried to bury the memories along with her, but they stayed with him, sticking to his skin like sap. No matter how much he tried to forget that day, forget this place—
It always came back. No matter how much he tried to destroy it, tried to obliterate it with all his power.
It was still there, sinking into him like a viper.
Now he stood above the stone that held her name. A small hole lay dug next to it; Oxzy had buried Cirilla right beside her, and now, covering it with shaking hands, he stood over the ones he lost.
What was he supposed to do next?
Staying with them was the only thing he wanted to do. But he knew that if he stayed longer, he would never want to leave. All the memories, all the thoughts of them, would haunt him until the very end.
The truth of his loss sank too deep. Oxzy wanted to kill someone. He wanted to avenge the innocent lives lost because of him.
Guilt could only last so long; now he just wanted to avenge her. He couldn't do it for his mother, but he would do it for Cirilla May.
The hero looked up into the darkening sky. He had stood in the same place above their grave for the whole day. It was already growing dark, and the night sky warned him of his ticking time.
If he wanted to do it, he had to do it now.
The hero already knew who had done it. It was a group from the grubs—or more accurately, a gang. He had to go there to search for their hideout. He didn't know the exact person responsible, but it wouldn't be difficult to find out. All he had to do was threaten a few druggies in the grubs, and the truth would come out.
And that's exactly what he did.
~The Grubs, the streets~
The hero walked along the empty streets, fully alert, his senses heightened to catch any sign of life. He noticed something at the end of the road—down a dark alley, an old couple making out against a wall while a few men watched.
Their light moans and half-removed clothes told the hero nothing useful. He was about to turn away when the gross, lewd remarks coming from the men's mouths made him sick.
"Yeah! Get it, bro!" one hollered.
"I can't believe the dudes would rather hang with Felix than watch this."
The hero turned away in disgust, moving from the alley, when he heard a man suddenly speak up.
"That Felix got the hero before Pierce ever could, huh?"
That was all he needed. Dropping his composed act, he rushed forward into the group. They shouted in surprise, most scattering and dashing away. Oxzy grabbed the man who had mentioned Felix before he could escape as well.
The man gagged in shock, clutching at the hero's hand around his throat. A cold, icy crust formed around his neck. He let out a shriek as his skin turned red with frostbite.
"Who did it?" was all Oxzy said, staring into the man's soul, ready to freeze him to death if he refused to answer.
"Wh—gah!" the man gasped in his grasp. Oxzy squeezed harder, leaning closer to demand clarity. The man shook his head, struggling to breathe against the growing ice on his neck, and finally choked out a few words. "Fe-Felix! His—gah—gang!"
"Where are they?"
"The warehouse! The warehouse by the lake!" the man cried, tears falling from his bloodshot eyes.
Oxzy knew exactly what he meant—he had seen the warehouse the villain had been headed to. Now he knew that the man who killed Cirilla May was there. A fresh surge of energy ran along his skin.
Dropping the druggie, he turned toward the end of the grubs.
~The Grubs, the warehouse~
The warehouse echoed with laughter. It grew louder the closer Oxzy got, and he felt his blood boil at hearing his own misery mocked from inside. He pushed open the tall door and stepped in; every eye in the room landed on him.
The hero looked around, searching for Felix, and his gaze stopped in the middle of the room. A small yellow light shone above a young man who looked almost childish, sitting on the bare floor. His eyes met Oxzy's.
The hero studied him, then stepped forward. The men closed in, surrounding him, clearly trying to scare him—but his lack of fear only irritated them further. It was as if he didn't even register their existence.
Oxzy ignored them. His exit was blocked, but that didn't concern him. All he saw was the mocking grin on Felix's face. He wanted to kill him, to skin him alive with nothing but the earth's rough bark.
Felix watched as the hero's gaze fixed on him alone. Oxzy showed no fear standing in an open room full of men who wanted him dead. His bloodshot eyes and tense posture only made Felix smile wider.
He had him. The hero was here—his plan was already in motion.
Seeing the hero's silence, Felix stood, dusting himself off as he faced him fully.
With a mocking, sly grin, he spoke, his voice full of twisted joy.
"We were waiting for you, Oxzy."