Girl On Fire Pt.2 [Edited]

A hand slammed over my mouth.

I was pulled sideways, my feet ripped free from the ground.

Digging my nails into the arm around my waist, I tried to pry it off, but the grip only tightened.

Then, in a single, heart-stopping moment, I knew exactly who held me.

No!

My feet kicked wildly, trying to find some purchase.

But as my foot connected with something solid—a knee maybe, or a shin—it felt like nothing. No pain, no result.

Damn it!

I couldn't look anywhere else other than the woman's back as she grew further away.

Wait! I wanted to scream. Please! Help me!

All that came out was a muffled sound.

I squirmed. If I could just—

Get free.

I sank my teeth into the palm over my mouth, but the leather absorbed it, tasting like tree bark—wood-ish, revoltingly bitter.

Crap. He'd learned.

Sounds of merchants selling their wares faded. We were miles away from real help, and I knew it.

The streets were full of people, their faces passing by in a blur. My heart pumped faster.

No one paid attention to me. No one even cared to glance my way, as I was dragged along by my captor.

It was wrong. It was so very wrong.

Darkness swallowed me. Rough stone scraped at my clothes, ripping it in places.

An alley. He'd pulled me into an alley.

I had to think. Panicking further wouldn't save me.

So instead—my body went limp, waiting for my chance.

Then, I felt my capturer shift his grip. Perfect—I elbowed the bastard in the gut.

“MMPH!”

Fantastic! My elbow connected.

But in quick retaliation, my chest was squeezed tightly.

Fire shot through my ribs. I gulped for air to no avail, my vision spotting from oxygen starvation.

Fool, I thought, wincing. Of course, one attack wouldn't be enough.

Despite that, one thought remained clear in my mind—I wasn't going back. Burnwake would freeze over first.

Even before I followed the gloved hand to the face, I knew.

The fresh cigarette dangling from his lips was enough to identify him immediately.

August.

Again.

My free hand balled into a fist, nails digging into my palm.

I wanted to gouge something out.

It was always him, always him.

The worst part wasn’t that he’d caught me. Or even the fact that his hold hadn’t loosened. No, the worst part was the look he gave me. Not that of a victor, not even smug.

Just disappointed.

He'd expected better.

What did the bastard even expect? I had done everything right, every single damn thing!

As his eyes roved over me, it paused at my feet.

I followed his line of sight.

The footprints—the woman's, and... mine? No. Wait. The prints were all wrong. My tracks shouldn't have been there, but they were—too dark and deep.

The scorch marks had doubled. Overlapped. One print, followed by a tiny print, perfectly inside it.

When had I...? 

That’s when I knew I had my answer.

I hadn’t merely been walking in someone else's footsteps—I'd been laying a secondary path, leaving a trail only someone actively looking to find it would see.

A mistake. My horrible mistake. My body slumped into his grip.

I'd made his job easy...

My chest heaved. Fast—far too fast, struggling to suck in just an ounce of precious oxygen—oxygen that just wasn't there.

Air... I needed air. But each inhale became shorter and more feeble, and my head started to spin.

[Warning. You are experiencing oxygen deprivation. Time until loss of consciousness: 00:01:30.]

I was going to pass out...

No—I can't let that happen. I closed my eyes, willing myself to stay awake. Going back there was not an option—not after all I’d gone through. I’d worked too hard, been through too much. I couldn’t end up back there... Not yet.

***

I'd expected to see August's face in my dream—that terrible look of disappointment I'd grown so used to.

Instead, as my mind started failing—a different face appeared, one that both soothed and angered me.

That day, I'd been casually leafing through some dusty old books when I stumbled on the portrait.

Hans (or was it Jonas?) looked about my age.

He had a head full of messy, dark red hair. Our similarities ended there because he wore this insufferable smile that instantly set me on edge.

He was pretty. Very pretty. In short, completely out of my league.

Not like I cared. I had no interest in him. Definitely not.

“Drooling over pictures of cute boys, eh? I used to do that a lot when I was your age.”

I'd slammed the book shut so fast I almost tore the page.

Fia laughed, and that was definitely, absolutely, unquestionably, without a doubt, the last time I ever, ever looked at that picture. Ever...

Wait.

Why in the realm was I thinking about him?

Ping!

My eyes fluttered open.

[Warning. Temperature Rising: 50°C.]

Fifty...

[54°C.]

I blinked. Fifty was dangerously high, wasn't it?

[60°C.]

I sucked in a breath—or tried to. Right. I couldn't. Not with August's hand clamped over my mouth. That didn't matter to my Immune System, though.

[65°C.]

The alley was hazy, my pinafore was hot and smoking.

I heard my heartbeats in my ears. I was suddenly conscious of the heat creeping up my neck, prickling my ears.

[75°C.]

No—correction. My face wasn’t burning. It wasn’t. This was just. A delayed reaction. To suffocating. Yes. That.

[Warning: Hormonal Spike in Progress. Temperature Rising: 90°C.]

I quietly cursed, wanting to slap the gods who gave humanity this damn thing.

[100°C.]

Everything was slow, like I was being sedated again, my heart beating behind my ribs like a wild thing. I felt fire in my blood, heat rushing through every nerve-ending.

I wasn't just burning—I was a firestorm held in the body of a girl. 

The leather over my mouth began to stretch and bubble, the stink of charred hide irritating my nose.

I stared, hypnotized by the smoke wafting from August's glove. 

I'd never seen Burnwear deform. What had never happened before was happening right now.

Then, I felt it.

A small twitch of his fingers, as brief as a hiccup.

He'd noticed.

Too late.

The leather ripped and peeled back, revealing a hand beneath.

Sucking in a much-needed lungful of air, I bit down again—this time on raw, unprotected skin.

“F#@*!”

Something thick and blistery flooded my mouth—richer than blood, more metallic than iron.

Lava.

August yanked his hand away, shaking it out as if that would somehow un-bite it.

I almost wanted to smile. 

Alas, as satisfying as it was, it was time to move.

I twisted, breaking free from his lax grip. The second my feet found the ground, I was off and running.

The alley walls were little more than a blur as I tore past, the stones wiggling like they were melting. And the air. God the air was so thick and hot—I could've sworn I was suffocating. Again!

There was no time to dwell on it.

Because footsteps thundered after me.

I could tell how close he was—his hand brushing the back of my neck, but he snatched it back.

Ha! He'd be an idiot to try touching me now. 

The heat coming off my body was my shield of fire, a warning to any who dared touch me. It was scary, but in a way, I was happy—a sort of dark satisfaction, like “I told you so.”

I burst out into the market, the chaos of noise and color a relief. A cart nearly hit me, I shoved it out of the way, sending barrels tumbling.

Shrieks as fruits and splintered wood went flying across the street, causing a—perfect distraction—commotion.

I didn’t dare look back. Legs burning, I ran, every single step sending a stabbing pain through my tired muscles.

August was behind me. I didn't know if he was still on my tail, and frankly, I had no energy left to give a damn.

It was maddening—all the plans I'd made only to bump into him in the end.

I was done. Done thinking, done planning, done outsmarting. So, I just ran. Straight as an arrow. Melting everything in my way.

First thing I rammed into was a rickety empty tavern, practically begging to be set aflame. The next was a lot thicker though; brick and mortar. I burned a glowing tunnel through it.

Looking back, I wasn’t entirely sure if I'd seen a family inside. It was all a blur. I felt bad. I really did. For resorting to such drastic measures.

But, at that moment, all I cared about was not getting caught. I couldn’t bear the thought of it.

Eventually, I ran out of buildings. And between me and freedom—the fourty-meter wall.

My final cage.

I wasn’t anywhere near the lifts, or the patrols. Just a quiet, forgotten stretch of grassland leading up to its base.

I ran faster. A little more, just a little more. I slammed my hands against the stone.

...And nothing. No melting. No glowing. No fire.

“No...” My voice rasped out, raw from lack of air. “No.”

I pressed harder. Pushed. Shoved. Willed the heat to rise. Willed my blood to boil. Nothing. My mind went blank as my chest rose and fell.

“No! It has to work!”

I tried once more, punching the cold stone again and again. Every bit of rational thought had abandoned me.

To my horror, splatters of blood stained the stone wall. Scarlet blood.

My arms fell to my sides. My head lowered. My entire body shook, trembling with the effort to hold it all in. It was hard. So hard. So unfair. 

Why was I born like this?

I tried to blink it away, but they wouldn't stop coming. I rubbed at my face, trying to wipe them away, but it was useless. There were too many. They wouldn't stop. 

It hurt to cry, it hurt like hell.

A familiar translucent screen greedily hogged my vision, displaying a countdown: [5, 4...]

I stared as the numbers ticked down faster and faster knowing what words came next.

[You Have Been Successfully Detoxified Of The Burnwake Blight.]

Every. Damn. Time.

The second I caught Burnwake Blight, and it gave me a taste of actual power, this too-efficient, perfectly-made, Haleborn body of mine always does this every time.

As far as bodies went, the bane of my existence was considered divine.

For a long time, I actually took solace in knowing that my body was special—but then... then I learned of the non-stop detoxification.

My heritage... it wasn't what I thought it was. My tears fell faster.

I'd been born to suffer. All Haleborn were. All except the Plague Gods, of course. The ones we descended from. They'd created the very Plague Realm we lived in, they were responsible for this blight, for all Hales' pain.

And in a society valuing power, what was the point? Why were we born like this, built to handle any blight but never let us keep it for long?

I laughed sourly. "Divine" My ass. We were all slaves to our own biology.

I-I-even went through the trouble of doing things I really shouldn't have, all because I wanted to stay sick, hoping to stay a part of the world with abilities.

Hugging my arms around myself, I tried to hold myself together.

How could it be, when I needed it the most?

Then, my mind flitted back to the meat cart. A realization dawned on me: One bite, that's all. One single piece of that meat, I could've melted through this gods forsaken wall.

The pent up anger in me—anger at the universe, at my situation, and at myself—broke out, in an incoherent scream.

No, I bit my lip, shaking my head. I had done my best. If it wasn't for some... some sick, sadistic psycho, I wouldn't even be in this shitty situation.

What would happen, they'd wondered, if they introduced the divine organ of a Haleborn into the mortal body of a Wasting-born?

With every fiber of my being, I hated them, the worst thing to ever happen to humanity—Ascenders.

Demons who, bit by bit, stolen organ by stolen organ, climbed the ladder to Hale-hood.

Alfred and Fia. The Himmels. “Family.” They’d adopted me for exactly this. But they were my parents in name only...

I balled both my fists.

I wished more than anything that I'd been born a Wasting-born. At least then, I might've been adopted by an actual family. A real mother and father. And the Blight would be in my System for years. They had so much more time... I wished it was me.

My body shook with the force of my sobs. My legs finally gave out. Back pressed against the wall, I slid until I was sitting on the wet grass. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I cuddled them.

I pulled a long strand of blonde hair away from my cheek. “Filthy Ward…”

From a clearing deep in the woods, I stared emptily at a lone trail of rising smoke.

August was finally here to collect me.

I’d lost.

I hadn't given up.

There was just no road left to run.

He would find me here.

And I wouldn't fight him.