Chronicles of the Unhinged Pyro

The room was suffocating, thick with the stench of blood, sweat, and stale smoke. Shadows danced in the dim glow of a dying bulb that flickered erratically, as if it too feared what it illuminated. On the cold, cracked floor lay a boy, no older than nine. His small frame was a tapestry of bruises, cuts, and burns, his eyes hollow and lifeless. He stared into the void, motionless, except for the faint tremor of his chest rising and falling.

A sound broke the silence—the faint, fractured giggle of a child. It was not joy but something darker, unhinged. The laughter stopped abruptly when the door creaked open. The boy's head tilted toward the sound, his empty eyes locking onto the figure standing in the doorway.

"You made me do this," the man's voice growled, followed by a twisted laugh that echoed off the walls. "You little mistake."

The boy said nothing. His lips barely moved, his breath rasping in the stillness. The man stepped closer, his boots leaving streaks of dirt and ash on the floor. "Answer me, damn it!" he roared. His eyes burned with the fire of madness. "You killed her! You killed your mother! My wife!"

The man's fists crashed down, punches and kicks raining mercilessly upon the child. The boy curled into himself, shielding what he could of his fragile body. Each blow came with another tirade, a litany of curses and accusations.

"Useless! Freak! You should've died instead of her!"

The boy's small hands covered his ears, trying to block out the voice. But the words were etched into his soul, branding him deeper than the bruises ever could. The man's maniacal laughter filled the room as he lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply. He looked at the boy, a sneer twisting his face. Then he pressed the smoldering tip against the boy's arm. The sizzle of burning flesh filled the air.

The boy didn't scream. He laughed.

It started as a giggle, then grew into a cacophony of unhinged mirth. The man froze, his sneer turning to confusion.

"What… what the hell is wrong with you?" he muttered, stepping back.

The boy didn't answer, his laughter echoing like a haunting melody. He stared at the glowing ember of the cigarette, transfixed. The sparks fell to the floor, tiny specks of light against the darkness. His voice, small but clear, whispered, "Beautiful… so beautiful."

He laughed again, louder this time, his voice gaining strength. "Fire. Beautiful. So… beautiful," he muttered, his words punctuated by fits of laughter. His eyes widened, glimmering with a deranged fascination.

"Fire! Beautiful!" he said again, louder, his laughter reaching a fever pitch. He clutched at his burned arm, his gaze locked onto the glowing sparks on the floor. "It's… perfect. So perfect. Fire! Beautiful fire!"

The man, unnerved, stepped away. "Freak," he spat, before slamming the door behind him. But the boy continued to laugh, the sound reverberating off the walls. His eyes glistened with something new—a spark, a flicker of life born from chaos.

Seven Years Later

The classroom was alive with the hum of adolescent chatter. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over rows of desks and faces filled with youthful energy. At the back of the room sat a boy, now seventeen. His red eyes burned with an intensity that made others avoid his gaze, and his blue hair was a striking contrast to the mundane uniforms around him.

Tyler Brooks was no ordinary student. His presence was magnetic, yet unsettling. He sat with an air of quiet detachment, his fingers drumming rhythmically on the desk. Around him, conversations ebbed and flowed, but none dared involve him.

The teacher entered, clapping their hands for attention. "Settle down, everyone. Today we're discussing—"

Tyler tuned out the voice, his mind drifting. He stared out the window, watching the sunlight dance on the leaves. For a moment, he was back in that dark room, staring at the sparks from a cigarette. Fire. Beautiful, untamed, destructive. The memory didn't bring fear or pain. It brought something else—a twisted sense of comfort.

A voice broke through his reverie. "Micah! Are you paying attention?"

His red eyes snapped to the front, locking onto the teacher. The room fell silent. A faint smile played on his lips, unsettling in its calmness. "Of course," he said, his voice even but laced with an undertone that sent a shiver through the room.

The teacher hesitated but nodded, returning to the lesson. Micah leaned back in his chair, the faintest hint of a chuckle escaping his lips. Seven years had passed, but the spark within him burned brighter than ever. And deep inside, the fire waited, beautiful and deadly, ready to consume everything in its path.

Tyler sat at his desk, a faint smile plastered on his face as he exchanged words with one of his classmates. To the untrained eye, it seemed like a genuine smile, but those paying closer attention could sense the subtle cracks in his facade. He didn't want anyone to see his true self—the emotions simmering just beneath the surface. As his classmates chattered and laughed, Tyler's ears caught snippets of their conversations, but his mind was elsewhere.

In the depths of his thoughts, Tyler's real feelings surfaced. They don't know me. Not really, he thought. If they did, they wouldn't be laughing. His inner voice was sharp, almost bitter, but he didn't dare let it show. Instead, he nodded and smiled at his friend's jokes, playing his part perfectly.

Then, everything changed. Without warning, the room plunged into darkness. The cheerful chatter turned into startled gasps and panicked whispers. Tyler's fake smile vanished as he looked around. "What's going on?" he muttered, his voice trembling slightly.

A yellow circle appeared beneath everyone's feet, glowing with an eerie light. The classmates froze, their expressions shifting from confusion to fear. "What is this?" someone yelled. Voices overlapped as everyone voiced their panic and questions.

"Is this some kind of joke?" a girl screamed, stepping back only to find the circle moving with her.

"I can't move! Why can't I move?" another boy shouted, his voice rising in terror.

"What the hell is happening?" a louder voice demanded, trembling with both anger and fear.

"This isn't funny! Stop it!" a panicked girl cried, her hands clutching her head.

"It's magic! This has to be magic!" someone else exclaimed, their voice shaking with disbelief.

Before anyone could make sense of the situation, they were lifted off the ground. Tyler's heart pounded as he felt himself rising into the air, weightless yet helpless.

"We're floating! Why are we floating?" a boy shouted, thrashing in the air.

"Somebody do something!" another girl screamed, tears streaming down her face.

A blinding light enveloped the room, forcing everyone to shut their eyes against its intensity.

When the light faded and Tyler opened his eyes, he found himself lying on the ground. The cold, smooth surface beneath him was nothing like the classroom floor. He blinked, staring up at an ornate ceiling covered in beautiful, intricate markings. Around him, his classmates stirred, groaning and whispering as they began to sit up.

A deep, commanding voice echoed through the room. "Welcome, otherworlders."

Tyler pushed himself to a sitting position and looked toward the source of the voice. A man sat on a grand throne, exuding an aura of authority. Beside him stood a strikingly beautiful woman, and to her side were two teenagers—a girl and a boy—whose presence felt almost regal. Surrounding them were knights clad in gleaming armor, their swords resting at their sides but ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.

One of Tyler's classmates, a popular guy known for his confident demeanor, stood up shakily. "Who are you? And why are we here?" he demanded, his voice carrying the nervous energy everyone else felt but didn't voice.

The man on the throne straightened, his expression calm but imposing. "I am King Aldric," he said, his voice firm yet warm. He gestured to the woman beside him. "This is Queen Elara, my wife." His hand moved toward the teenagers. "These are my children, Princess Lyria and Prince Kael."

The king's gaze swept over the group of bewildered students. "You are here because our world is in great peril," he continued. "The Demon Kingdom has risen, threatening to plunge our land into darkness. We have summoned you to aid us in our fight for survival."

The room fell silent as the gravity of his words sank in. The popular guy spoke up again, his voice laced with skepticism. "Saving your world? Why us? We're just students."

King Aldric's expression softened slightly. "You may not yet understand the power you hold, but the summoning ritual has chosen you for a reason. Each of you has potential—potential that can turn the tide of this war."

The students exchanged uncertain glances. Tyler, still seated on the ground, stared at the king, his mind racing. Slowly, a crazy smile spread across his face, his red eyes glinting with an unsettling light. One thought consumed him, and he whispered under his breath, "Perfect."