The heat was suffocating.
Jonas' lungs burned with every breath, his chest heaving as flames licked across the cobblestones. The street—already littered with bodies, blood, broken glass—was now painted orange by the inferno standing before them.
The Pyromaniac didn't posture. Didn't shout. He just stood there, flames curling up his arms, dripping from his fingers like molten wax. His face hidden under that hood, but Jonas could feel his eyes staring straight through them.
Ronan?
Ronan giggled.
He didn't even hesitate, sliding one knife into each hand as if greeting an old lover. "FINALLY—someone who gets it. Let's DANCE, FIRE BOY!"
He darted forward before Jonas could even curse. Knives spun from his fingers in glittering arcs, fast and precise. Not aimed where the Pyromaniac was, but where he'd go.
And Ronan was right—
The Pyromaniac leaned to the side, letting the blades whistle past his hood.
But instead of flesh, the knives hit a sudden whip of flame. The burning lash cracked the air like a thunderclap, smacking the knives right back toward their sender.
Ronan dodged two, ducked another, caught the fourth in his teeth with a grin that glowed hellish in the firelight. His laugh rolled out, jagged and mad.
Then he charged—on all fours, boots and hands clawing the cobblestones like some rabid wolf.
Jonas' throat went dry. He's insane.
The Pyromaniac tilted his head, amused, then raised his palm. Flames twisted, stretched, and snapped upward—forming a towering wall of fire.
Jonas flinched from the heat alone. His skin prickled, sweat searing his eyes.
But Ronan didn't stop. Didn't slow.
He plunged through.
His rat-tail singed instantly, strands of hair curled black. His jacket smoked. The stench of burning leather and hair filled the air. But his body broke through, face smeared with soot, eyes wide with manic light as he leapt high.
He pulled three knives from his sleeves mid-air, spinning them in a glittering halo.
"LET'S CUT YOU OPEN, PRETTY BOY!"
But his descent faltered—
Because the Pyromaniac wrapped himself in fire.
Flames crawled up his arms, legs, shoulders. His entire body became armor, molten and crackling, licking outward in tendrils that seared the very air.
Jonas' gut clenched. He could feel the heat from where he stood.
And the Pyromaniac raised both hands—flames twisting into spears.
He hurled them upward at Ronan.
Jonas didn't think.
He shoved his hand into his pocket, clawed out the grit he always kept, and threw.
Sand scattered across the firelight, glowing gold in the reflection—then slammed straight into the Pyromaniac's eyes.
The man flinched. Just a twitch.
But it was enough.
Ronan howled with joy, knives flashing down. One carved through the man's cheek, drawing blood even through the fire. The Pyromaniac hissed, staggered back as Ronan rolled off his shoulder, landing beside Jonas with a stumble and a cackle.
"HAHAHAHA! NICE ONE, CRIME FELLA!" Ronan bellowed, soot smeared across his teeth as he grinned like a devil.
Jonas exhaled, shoulders sagging. "...I don't think we can win against that idiot."
Ronan tilted his head, still panting, still laughing under his breath. Then he licked his thumb and smeared the soot across his cheek like war paint. "Win? Who said win? We just gotta last long enough to make him look stupid."
Jonas stared at him flatly. "...That's your plan?"
"YUP."
The Pyromaniac's head lifted. His hood shifted back, revealing a scarred face lit red by his own flames. His lips curled.
The first blast came low, a stream of fire that rolled across the street like a wave. Jonas leapt sideways, boots skidding across cobblestones. His prosthetic clanked, almost giving out, but he jammed his cane into the ground and vaulted over the searing line.
Ronan? He just ran through, knives slashing at the air like he could cut the flames apart. His coat caught fire. He shrugged it off mid-stride, burning leather collapsing behind him. He screamed with laughter, lunging for the Pyromaniac's legs.
The Pyro stomped down, flames bursting like grenades.
Jonas came in from the side, cane whipping up in a heavy arc. The blade snapped free at the last second, slashing across the man's wrist.
The fire sputtered for a split second.
Ronan slid between the Pyro's legs, dragging two knives along his calves as sparks sprayed.
The Pyro roared, fire spiraling outward in a burst that forced them both back.
Jonas skidded, coughing from the smoke, his cane trembling in his grip. He pulled the latch, snapped it back into gun form, and fired.
BOOM.
Buckshot tore through the flames, smacking into the Pyro's shoulder. He staggered—but didn't fall.
The cloak burned away fully now, revealing a body painted in fire scars. His chest rose and fell, lips curling in a snarl.
And the flames around him burned hotter.
Jonas' stomach dropped.
"OH YES—!" Ronan cackled, springing up onto a wall to Jonas' right. He climbed like a spider, knives jabbing into cracks as he pulled himself above the Pyro.
The fire wielder turned, flames coiling into a whip again, lashing upward.
Ronan let go.
He dropped. Spun. Hurled knives down like rain.
The Pyro swung, whip cutting through half of them, but the others buried in his shoulder and thigh. He bellowed in pain, staggering again—just in time for Jonas to rush in and slam his cane-blade into his ribs.
The blade hissed as it hit flesh, half-melting from the heat but digging in anyway. Jonas ripped it free, coughing, eyes watering from the smoke.
The Pyro's face twisted.
Then he snapped both arms wide.
Fire exploded outward in a shockwave, a burning halo that cracked windows and lit the cobblestones black.
Jonas and Ronan were thrown back like rag dolls, slamming into the street. Jonas rolled, groaning, skin blistering from the heat. His coat smoldered, and he beat at it desperately before it caught fully.
Ronan rolled too—then just sat up, hair burned, skin smoking, and laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.
Jonas spat blood. His chest heaved. "We can't—"
"SHHHH." Ronan cut him off, wobbling to his feet. "Don't ruin it. He's pissed now. This is where it gets good."
The Pyromaniac stood at the center of the street, breathing hard, flames coiling tighter, denser, more violent. His hands pulled together. Fire swirled between them, growing brighter, hotter—forming a massive fireball.
The hunters who had survived scrambled away, retreating from the heat.
Jonas' knees locked. He braced his cane in front of him, chest shaking. He muttered, almost to himself. "...Sorry, Big Sis. Couldn't protect you after all."
Ronan didn't move. Didn't even blink. He just grinned at the incoming inferno, knives dangling limp in his hands.
The fireball swelled, pulsing, then tore forward like a meteor.
Jonas clenched his teeth. Closed his eyes.
And then—
A snap rang in the air.
"… Nuisances."
The voice was low, bored, like a man irritated at being kept past curfew. It didn't even rise above the crackle of flames, but it cut sharper than the fire itself.
And then—
Mirrors.
They split into being across the street, one after another, appearing from thin air. The glass was jagged, crooked, reflecting broken pieces of the world: warped faces, fragments of smoke, shards of firelight. Some mirrors were already cracked, blackened at the edges from the Pyromaniac's heat. Others shimmered cold and perfect, untouched.
The debris scattered across the street—the already shattered bottles, bits of glass from windows, even the molten pools glimmering like liquid mirrors—all of it joined in, turning the alley into a hall of distorted reflections.
Jonas froze. His hands trembled on his cane, and his stomach dropped. He didn't even dare to look straight at them. But at his feet, one shard caught the glow of fire… and in that shard, he saw it.
Him.
The reflection of Adrian. Pale silver eyes glowing with indifference.
"Good work, kid."
Jonas' throat closed. His knees threatened to give out.
Adrian's figure stepped forward through the maze of glass. His coat was dark, heavier than usual, the hem cutting against the light like a slice of shadow itself. The white of his shirt gleamed faintly underneath, though the light barely touched it. His gloves—black now—creaked as he flexed his fingers.
Jonas wanted to look away. He couldn't.
Ronan on the other hand…
"Got some popcorn, crime fella?" The lunatic threw himself back into a star shape on the cobblestones, wheezing with manic laughter. His grin cracked wide, soot smudged across his teeth. "The show's gonna be GOOD. But—ehhh—hard to enjoy without snacks, right?"
Jonas glanced at him, incredulous. Then back to Adrian's back, which seemed impossibly broad against the smoke and sky. Like the abyss had decided to take human shape with gray fog embracing him.
He lowered himself onto his elbows, every breath shivering. I can't… I can't even move.
Adrian's voice came again, calm, cutting. "Sloppy."
The Pyromaniac had already readied another spear. He whipped his arm forward, sending it straight for Adrian's chest.
It struck.
—Or should have.
The Adrian it pierced shattered instantly into a spray of glittering shards, bursting apart into nothing.
The real one slid behind the Pyro in the same breath. Silent. His coat swished in the heat.
"There's no need to confirm," Adrian murmured. His voice echoed unnaturally, everywhere at once.
The Pyro's eyes widened, and he lashed his whip around—cracking flames right through Adrian's body.
It burst again. Just another mirror.
And then—
Dozens.
They stepped forward from the scattered glass, each Adrian perfectly still, silver eyes glowing like drowned moons. They ringed the Pyromaniac, tightening.
All of them spoke at once, every voice layered, suffocating.
"You are guilty."
The Pyro's response was instinct. Rage. He thrust both hands outward and sent a storm of fire spears into the crowd. They tore through several Adrians, shattering them into reflective dust.
But none screamed. None bled.
The true Adrian slid behind him again, sword flashing. He drove the blade into the Pyro's shoulder—not clean, not decisive. Jagged, like sawing into tough bread. The man roared, staggering as Adrian ripped it free, blood splattering against molten stone.
The Pyro swung back, but hit only another reflection.
And then another.
He tried fireballs next, swirling massive spheres of flame between his palms and hurling them in rapid succession. They burst against reflections that dissolved like water, leaving only smoke and dust.
The real Adrian emerged from the side this time, sliding in low. His sword curved across the Pyro's thigh, carving a strip of flesh that smoked instantly. He didn't kill—just crippled, making blood pour freely, making the man stagger and trip as his leg gave.
Then he vanished again.
More Adrians walked forward, calmly, unhurried.
The Pyro screamed, turning, flinging flames. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't see.
The third time, he tried desperation.
He closed his eyes, feeling the heat well from his chest, and erupted a spiral of flame that tore outward in every direction. It melted glass, boiled stone, seared the walls black. For a heartbeat, the street became pure fire.
When the light cleared—
The mirrors were gone. Shattered. Pools of molten glass hissed across the ground, glowing red.
The Pyro panted, shoulders heaving. His lips curled into a victorious snarl.
"Ha… ha… I… I destroyed it."
But then—
Adrian stepped forward again. Not one. Not two. Dozens. Their reflections shimmered on the molten glass itself, faces warping but clear, eyes glowing silver through the liquid glow.
"… stop making my job harder."
The scowl cut deeper than any flame.
The Pyro's smirk died on his lips. His breath caught. His hands shook, but he raised them anyway, desperate, flinging more spears.
The Adrians didn't rush this time. They walked. Leisurely. Calm. Closing the circle like predators who already knew the kill was theirs.
The Pyro's spears went wide. He swung the whip frantically, cutting down mirror after mirror.
And then the crowd of Adrians surged forward.
He swung—hit glass.
He burned—hit smoke.
And then—hands.
A true grip clamped around his throat. The leather gloves sizzled as the fire licked at them, but Adrian didn't flinch. He tightened, iron in his fingers.
The Pyromaniac clawed, screamed, his flames surging higher, wrapping his body in one last inferno. Adrian stood there, silver eyes never blinking.
The fire licked his coat, ate at his gloves, but his hand never released.
The Pyro's vision blurred. His chest convulsed. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.
In Adrian's eyes, he saw it—
His own reflection. Not fire. Not power. Greed. His face warped with hunger for more, his endless need for recognition, his pathetic ambition.
He tried to scream. It came out a choke.
CRUNCH.
The sound echoed across the empty street.
The body went limp.
Adrian let it drop like discarded cloth.
"… guilty without a doubt."
The silver drained from his eyes as he staggered, one hand clutching his head, the other his stomach. The fire around him died into smoke. His chest heaved, his throat working like he might vomit.
Jonas sat slumped against the wall, cane across his lap. His expression flat, blank—only the wide tremor in his eyes betraying him.
Ronan burst into wheezing laughter beside him, kicking his boots against the cobblestones. "Yeahhhhhh… your big sis made him drink too much."
Jonas didn't even reply.
He couldn't.