Michael sat on the couch, talking with Emily. For once, things felt normal — no guards, no tests, no chaos. Just him, his sister, and the sound of the TV humming softly in the background.
Then came the crash.
The door exploded open — SWAT agents in black armor stormed in, shouting commands. Emily screamed as Michael tried to reach her, but a soldier slammed him to the ground. He saw her struggling, crying his name — then a flash grenade went off, and everything went white.
---
Michael woke up in a cold, metal chair. His wrists and ankles were tied down. A dim red light flickered above him. Across the room stood a man in a black mask, his voice low and calm.
> "Michael. Do you want Emily to live?"
Michael's eyes widened. "What—what did you do to her?!"
> "She's safe. For now. But that depends on you. You've got potential, kid. You take these drugs, work with me, and I'll make sure nothing happens to her. Deal?"
Michael's heart raced. His breath came heavy. He thought of Emily's face, the fear in her eyes.
He clenched his fists. "...Deal."
A man stepped from behind him and jabbed a needle into his arm, injecting a clear liquid. Within seconds, Michael's skin began to heat up. His body shook.
"What are you doing to me?!" Michael screamed.
The masked man tilted his head.
> "I know how your power works. Your sweat — it's like gasoline. Super flammable. And your skin? It's the spark. The match. You can ignite your own sweat and control fire around you. A package deal... if you learn control."
Michael's body trembled as the heat built. His skin glistened with sweat.
> "You're going to train harder than you ever have in your life."
---
Metal doors opened, revealing a large concrete room. Dozens of armed figures waited inside.
> "Show me what you can do, King of Wrath," the masked man said.
Michael was shoved inside. The door slammed behind him. He raised his hand and tried to form a fireball — but instead, his whole body erupted into flames. He screamed and shut it down, smoke rising from his arms.
"Damn it!" he shouted. His breathing was fast — too fast. Sweat poured down his skin, and each drop threatened to ignite.
If he couldn't control it, he'd burn alive before the fight even started.
He remembered something — a memory from the old house in the woods.
An old man once told him, "When liquid heats up, it turns into vapor — a gas. And when it cools, it becomes liquid again."
That's it.
Michael focused. He forced his body to heat up just enough to boil the sweat into vapor — a mist swirling around him. He kept his hands cool, channeling all the fire into his core.
He thrust his hand forward.
A fireball exploded from his palm, clean and controlled this time. It slammed into the first enemy, engulfing them in a burst of heat.
Michael grinned. "Let's see who burns first."
He fought like a storm — fire and steam mixing into a haze of rage. Every movement sharper, every flame stronger. When the last enemy fell, Michael stood alone in the smoke, chest heaving, flames dancing across his arms.
The masked man's voice echoed through the speaker.
> "Good. Now we begin the real training."
Michael looked up, eyes burning fire 🔥.
> "Then bring it."
The King of Wrath – Part 2
Weeks passed.
Michael's world had turned into fire, sweat, and pain. Every day, he trained in sealed rooms that smelled of smoke and metal. Every night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his body trembling from exhaustion and the drugs burning in his veins.
But each day, he got stronger.
He learned to burn slower — to control the temperature of his body like a dial. He learned to use his sweat not as a curse, but as a weapon.
The masked man watched from behind glass, his voice echoing through speakers.
> "Good. You're learning control, Michael. The King of Wrath is rising."
---
Meanwhile, Emily was safe.
She had been returned to a dorm under government watch — told that Michael was transferred somewhere safe, that he was "helping" the system.
She believed it. She smiled again.
But she didn't know what her brother had traded for her peace.
---
Months later, Michael stood on the training field — no longer a test subject.
Now, he wore the uniform of a ranked fighter. And his rank?
Equal to Jack.
The masked man's voice came through the speaker again.
> "Time for your next test. Show me how far you've come."
The steel doors slid open, and another ranked fighter stepped in — taller, stronger, with lightning arcing around his arms. He smirked.
> "You're the new hothead they keep talking about? Let's see if the fire lives up to the name."
Michael's eyes narrowed. "You'll find out."
The signal sounded. The fight began.
---
Michael sprinted forward and suddenly threw his hand up, spraying a mist of sweat into the air.
Then — snap!
He shot a tiny fireball into it.
BOOM!
The mist ignited, flashing into a blinding burst of light.
> "Flash Bang," Michael muttered, shielding his eyes.
The other fighter staggered back, momentarily blinded. Michael vanished from view, circling around the back of the arena.
He slid across the ground, spreading lines of sweat with each movement.
Then he snapped his fingers — whoosh!
The lines erupted into towering walls of fire, boxing his enemy in.
> "Fire Walls," he said under his breath, watching the flames rise higher.
The lightning fighter tried to blast through, but each strike was met with a roar of flame. The air shimmered with heat.
Then Michael closed his eyes, focusing. His body began to cool — steam rising from his skin.
The vapor above him thickened into faint clouds of sweat, floating near the ceiling.
He raised his hand, fire swirling around his arm.
> "Rainfall."
He launched a fireball into the clouds — and the moment it hit, the air burst into raining fire, droplets of flame pouring down like molten rain.
The enemy screamed, overwhelmed by the heat, unable to see through the storm.
When the fire stopped, Michael stood in the center of the burned room — calm, steady, eyes glowing faintly like a fire ball. He looked down at his trembling hands, then turned toward the observation glass.
The masked man leaned forward, his tone low and proud.
> "Excellent. You've learned how to make your fire fall from the sky. The King of Wrath truly burns brighter."
Michael didn't reply. He simply walked through the smoke toward the exit, his voice low enough for only himself to hear.
> "Emily... I'm doing this for you."
The door closed behind him, leaving only the faint echo of fire dripping from the ceiling.