Tory Renold, fire elemental

  The view of mount edith Cavell, the tallest mountain surrounding the small tourist town of jasper, provides a beautiful view to the ocean I’ve created down below. An ocean of fire and ash. Despite it only being mid September, the top of this mountain has snow on it. Or rather, it did. It all melted away by the time I reached the top. Quite a walk it was, but the view of the sweet, sweet flames was worth it a thousand times over.

  Pulling my phone out of my pocket, protected by a bubble of heat keeping the worse heat out, I check the date. I frown. 8 days until the voting. Whatever voting is, I have a feeling it won’t be good for me. I shrug and put my phone away. There’s nothing I can do about it. Or, theres nothing I know I can do about it, which is practically the same thing.

  Smiling, I run a hand along the tips of the rising flames. I’d always loved fire, for as long as I can remember even. My first memory was of sitting in front of a campfire, watching the licking flames as they reached up the old fashioned chimney in the house. My mother had pulled my hand away from the fire, warning me that I would get burned. I hadn’t felt a burn until a few years later, when me and my friends set off some fireworks in the woods by our school in the middle of the night. One fired wrong, slamming into my chest before exploding. It was a medium sized one, and it bounced off me before it exploded. I don’t think it would have fully killed me if it hit me and exploded dead on, but the burns along my right arm were a pretty clear indicator to my mother and father who had set those fireworks off. I was the only one in my friend group not to get off scot free.

  Years later, I remember seeing an experiment in glass. It showed how heat, how fire, could cause chemical changes, like in fireworks. That was how I’d been set on my life path as a pyrotechnician. It didn’t pay the best, and it wasn’t a flashy job, but it was the one I wanted. I wanted to see things burn. I wanted heat, wanted fire.

  And years later, less than a month after my 27th birthday, time stopped, and whatever god was out there gave me the power of my dreams. And oh, how I used them. I started burning. Then I realized the more I burned, the easier it was to burn even more. So I kept burning, and burning, and burning. I walked through the forests of Jasper national park, the namesake of the tourist town, letting my fingers brush across trees and making fire burst to life from them as if from out of nowhere. I smile. I can feel it all, as if it were part of me. Every ember is a nerve, every crackle a nose, every bonfire an eye. I can hear, see, smell, touch everything. It’s as if I were a god.

  Or, perhaps I am. Maybe that's what it meant. Am I the god of fire? Does it matter? I can just burn. And damn, does it feel good.

  I tilt my head to the side, letting the small object whizz past me. I'd noticed my many pursuers quite some time ago. I can feel their footsteps on the lingering embers in the ash. I can see them from every angle the fire rises. Yet they thought all it would take is a single shot from a gun to take me out? Dumbasses, the lot of them. They wear the garb of firefighters, but they aren't. They have no hose, no truck. They do have guns, though. I crouch down to avoid a full barrage of them, then leap forward after hearing that click of no bullets. Fire combusts under my feet, propelling me faster as I reach the first man. I grab his face with one hand and unleash the hottest fire I can currently make. My hand melts through the man's face like butter and he's dead in seconds. Turning, I find the remaining 11 of them all aiming their guns at me. It's too close to dodge, and I'm no expert in hand-to-hand combat. Luckily, I don't need to be. I reach out to the fire all around us and grab it. Then, I yank it towards us. Everyone's visions are bathed in flame, granting them no line of sight. Fire like this, these men seem to have the materials to resist. However, they can't see through fire. I can.

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  Switching to my heat sense, I see 11 noticeable voids in the intense heat. I sneak behind the first one in the flames and reach out. My entire hand goes clean through his skull like a hot knife. Or rather, a hot fist. I chuckle at my own joke, then make my way to the next man. They've begun to panic. they can barely hear their own voices over the crackling flames. All the better. One by one, each of them die, until only one is left. A woman with a rifle of some sort. Shockingly resistant to heat, given the temperatures around her. This fire might not be as strong as my fistfire, but it's still significantly hotter than fire should be normally. Either way, I reach out and melt the nozzle of her gun shut. I then pull the fire back and kick her in the chest, slamming her into the trunk of a tree. I press my boot into her gut and look down at her.

  “Hey, pretty lady.” I grin viciously down at her. She doesn't seem all too afraid, which amuses me. She’d been the one giving orders to the rest, so I suppose that makes sense. “Don't suppose you could tell me who you work for, do you?”

  “Like I'd tell scum like you.” She grits out, glaring up at me through clenched teeth.

  “Ooh, someone's got a potty mouth.” I chuckle. “Well, not to worry. Maybe if I parade you with me, they'll come out on their own.” I reach out and grip her headgear in one hand, then rip it off. She visibly tenses for the heat, only to pause, confused, as no heat comes. She appears to be a woman in her late-40's, far older than myself, with black hair tied into a bun, streaked with minor grey, and purple eyes, a feature I'd not seen before.

  “Oh, don’t worry. No harm will come to your little head.” I smile. “At least, not until I get what I want.”“And… that do you want?” She asks, eyes narrowing.

  “I want to know why an American squad is hunting me down.” I say, removing my foot. I incinerate the headpiece in my hand. Her eyes dart from side to side, searching for a path of escape, but all she finds is fire in every direction. She's only alive because I'm keeping the heat from her, and she realizes it.

  “And what proof do you have of that?” She growls out, eyes narrowing nearly to slits.

  “You're quiet around me, yes.” I say casually, beginning to walk. As she gets further I turn up the heat, forcing her to follow along with me. “But not around the fire.”

  “You can… hear through the fire?” Her eyes seem to light up slightly before cooling into a disciplined frown. That's information she wanted, I assume. She might try to use that phone in her back left pocket when she thinks I'm not looking, but I don't really care. it's not like any weapons can hurt me short of an atomic bomb, and Canada would not like being bombed.

  I've found that the more I burn, the more in tune with the fire I get. My body moves easier and befores harder to hurt, like shooting fire. I'd imagine eventually, I'll be fire.

  “What's your name, lady?” I ask the woman reluctantly trailing behind me. She could preach her loyalty all she likes, but honestly? She doesn't want to die. I can see it.

  “Like I'd tell you that.” She mutters, crossing her arms.

  “Alicia Vaugur.” I read out her ID in her back pocket by forming a tiny ember inside it. “Nice name.”

  “How did you-” She sputters, then takes another deep breath. “Enough with these games. I'm a hostage, correct? Stop talking to me.”

  “Alright, alright.” I roll my eyes. “No need to get all snip-snappy on me.” I chuckle, then keep walking. The fire sounds so beautiful today, doesn't it?