A Cool Tail-Race

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Emmet 'Bonfire' Knox

A sliver of blood falls from my lacerated foot onto the razor-sharp sands below. An annoyed kick is what led to it, and Virgil scoffs at my stupidity, not understanding. I feel as though a massive weight has left my shoulders.

No, more than that. I've lost the shadow of death that has hung over me. Every instant I was alive, I was closer to Lady Death, to the Mother Below, making me her pawn.

It eats at me still, for not all is fixed. There are remnants of Darklight within my body, echoing pain and murmurs of shame when I am not paying strict attention to my focus. I think she may return one day, but I'm too afraid of what that might mean. Wyatt already ripped her out once, and even if he did it again, would that do anything?

Or am I simply doomed to join her? What happens when I meet her? Or one of her closest children? Will they be able to dominate me? No. I held my own against Eldest. I should be safe against that.

Virgil and I quietly stride along the Cardinal beach, searching for Wyatt. But we can't seem to locate him or anything resembling tracks. Frustrations rise, but they seem to only be from me. I glance over at Virgil as the man has his face unveiled. He's finally grown used to showing it again now that the sun isn't around.

My teeth grind as there are so many things I want to do, but that profound shadow rests heavily still. It's less of an imminent danger like it used to be that I was constantly at war with and more of a prophecy on the horizon, foretelling my death.

But it's not really my death that bothers me. It's what I will become. AH! Where is Wyatt? He'll understand. I need to talk to him. I twist to Virgil again, but the man speaks first, staring me directly into my eyes.

"Relax. I know you are ignitable like a match, but calm down. I knew Wyatt wasn't this way. There weren't any footsteps or tracks in this direction."

Despite his words, fury emerges, and I raise a hand, one that Virgil catches flawlessly. He is so fast that I can hardly understand how he did it. Nevertheless, he can't stop my shouts.

"What!? Why!? He treats you like an older brother!? Have you betrayed us!?"

I struggle against his grip and wrench my way out, but the man simply smiles at me wistfully. A slow shake of the head and a smooth explanation barely soothe the flames within.

"Of course not, Bonfire. I know he will be fine. He's more resilient than anyone knows. I wanted you to come out here with me, and I wanted to speak with you."

My eyebrows raise, and I give the man a few more moments to speak. As my heart beats powerfully, Virgil points out to the waves beside us, only a few dozen feet away. The currents pull in my gaze, lowering my heart rate while he continues.

"You are an inch from becoming a liability. Not because you are weak in your body but because you cannot control yourself. We let it slide before because, well, there wasn't much other choice. A second ago is a prime example. You lashed out without a beat of thought. Wyatt wouldn't let anything else slide other than your inclusion. But I'm telling you this because I know you will make the right decision if you cannot handle yourself."

"Wha-what do you mean right decision? You want me to leave?"

I raise my hands, bits of my heart threatening to shatter, but they are held by thin threads of hope. I've never been massively close to Virgil, but we've had our moments. They were mostly fighting together, though.

Virgil sighs in response to me, striding away from the beach before sitting right on the edge of the glassy sands. I stare at him while he pulls the cloth around his neck off his body, tossing it to the side.

"That's not what I'm saying. You are too emotional, Bonfire. Your heart is a raging flame of passion. It is both a good thing and a bad one. I am not telling you to temper it but simply guide its course better. If you can not do that... then you are endangering Wyatt, and the rest of us as well. He nearly died saving you, which would have doomed the rest of us. We need him down here. I know that you aided us in turn, but had you been less mindless with your skills, you could have prevented even coming close to Her taking over."

Virgil's eyes don't leave me, the half-black and half-white orbs telling me things he isn't even saying. This is a warning, and I will only get one. My knees shake as I realize how much danger I've put my friend in. The former assassin only continues to dig into my failures right to me. Looking down at the dark sand, I hold my head in my hands, the beating of blood through my skull far too audible.

"Why devour the flames? They hold no benefit for you other than momentary strength. The negatives were so much worse. Did you think about diverting it? You can control flames! Why control them into you!? Why not push them to the side! Out of harm!? It was your heart and your mind that made such a rash decision."

Mechanically, I limp over to him and plop right onto the dirt beside the obsidian sand. Virgil takes this as a sign of confirmation, and he just won't stop talking.

"Every fight you've been in, he's had to pull your weight. I will not stand it any longer. Only the best of the best ever make it to where you stand, Emmet. Only the best of the fucking best with ambitions that exceed their limits. And for you to be so fucked up, so unsure of how to continue, so broken inside? For you to seek nothing for yourself and still reach this level? For you to be such an act? Without a bone of seriousness ninety percent of the time?!"

My head hangs, and I place it into cupped scarred palms. The scars have already returned without the Mother Below's influence upon my flesh. At least I can use my Ether for more things than igniting my body. But it doesn't matter if all I have done is make things worse when I've only been trying to help.

Virgil pauses for several moments, calming himself down with a long breath. I think he's watching me. No, he assuredly is. I don't lift my head. I don't want to look at him.

But while I simmer in my depression, firm hands grab mine. They pull them to the side, and Virgil rips my head from my raised knees. He holds me by the top of my skull with one hand, the charred and ashy hair flaking off from the previous heat. I don't resist. I can't.

The Wraith forces me to look him in the eyes, not speaking until I do so. And when I do, I watch the light grow from his core, entering every aspect of his form until resting inside his eyes. The split colors become nothing but pure radiance.

The luminosity sears my vision with dots of darkness, but I just can't look away.

"We were both chosen by Gods, Bonfire. I had to fight for mine, but you were simply given gifts. I am terrified of what you could become if you had the same drive as Lennon. Or... if you were taken by a being that knew what to do with all your talents. They all underestimate you, Emmet, but I won't. I can see through you."

Virgil releases my skull, but it doesn't drop afterward. Instead, it rises as I hear the words I wasn't expecting.

"I can see how you put in a tenth of the effort compared to anyone else in our group. You gave a one-hundredth of the shit for personal strength. You've never even purposefully trained. Yet here you stand amongst some of the best to ever live. You are too emotional and too easily distracted for all of that. And yet... I am convinced that should we come to blows, I would be the one to fall."

I wave my hand, not believing his words, but the man cuts me off.

"No way. You could kill me before I even—"

"I could kill you in surprise. In a genuine, even battle that you take seriously? I die. Silas dies. Marion dies. Otto dies. Birdie dies. Tomas dies. Johnny dies. Aniwye dies. With Wyatt... I think you both die. As for Lennon... it's closer than you would think. Let me ask you something, Bonfire. Have you ever, ever lost a fight you put your heart into?"

Virgil drops his hand to my shoulder, patting it morosely and painfully. Then, he turns around and walks back to the cabin, leaving me to stew in his remaining words.

"Make your choice, Bonfire. Either you get your shit together, or people die because you chose to stay and play comedian. You are a genius who has never known he had talent. I only hope you can discover it for yourself that you do."

A long, drawn-out sigh leaves my lungs after Virgil's back fades on the horizon. We roamed rather far, didn't we? My chest and back begin to roil as I feel something well up from inside me, only it isn't fire.

It's water.

Tears dribble out of my eyes, sliding down onto the sand just before me. They meld with the blood from my feet and glide gradually to the river before me. I watch the liquids move as more leaves my body.

I don't want to hurt them, but I am. In every fight we've had recently, Wyatt has had to jump into the pain to save me. And in every case, had I been more careful, more level-headed, less... Bonfire, it wouldn't have happened.

For once, the anger wholly fades as I crouch forward. All that is left is an empty chamber, a forlorn furnace. My heart constricts slowly, the zeal gone. I reach ahead with my hands, digging into the sands of obsidian as they slice into my flesh without restraint.

It hurts. It hurts so bad, the thousands of tiny cuts threatening the hands' whole functions. Nevertheless, I tighten my fists, just wanting to feel something, anything other than the cold water.

Then, a weight appears beside me. I don't look to whoever or whatever it is, too lost in the currents, but I do hear their voice. It is aged, ancient, even. And it holds a nostalgic aura as if they remember being in my shoes.

"Had it not been for this war of Gods, you'd be this century's prodigy. Hidden at first, but when the fire blooms, it spreads without pause, without cease, the radiance impossible to ignore. Others have come to outshine you, pushed or pulled by a variety of means and players. It reminds me of my rise, young man. You remind me of my past self more than any other I've met. A talent hidden beneath his own failures and insecurities. In my youth... I was nothing but anger and wrath. It took me two decades to learn peace, and that was long before I ever fought a true war."

Still, my eyes do not turn. The blood leaks in far greater numbers alongside the water as the voice's volume only grows. The gravity of the situation heightens further, with my vision turning blurry.

"All sorrows come with joy. All joys come with sorrow. It is better to hit the wall early than it is late. A late wall such as yours is built of diamonds, not stone. Plus, you've not learned how to shatter one before. I wish I could aid you, but to do so would be to disrespect your potential and you."

The voice falls silent for several seconds as my eyes shrink to a pinpoint. Somehow, enough blood to incapacitate an Angel has bled from my hands alone. It is odd, but I am in no position or state of mind to consider the oddity. Only when the voice returns do I finally shift my eyes.

"Farewell, Emmet Knox, May The Scales Weigh Even. A flame is as weightless as a feather, yet it can be equally stained with ink. Use your gifts such that you are not ashamed of the stain."

Twisting to the side, I find nothing in the place where the voice comes, only darkness. Within the darkness, however, I feel... something shift within my own body. It runs through me before vanishing utterly. Shaking my head, I turn away from the dark.

I don't like the dark. Never did. Never will.

My hands tighten. The glass forces more blood out. I welcome the pain. Then, I ignite the lost blood with my Ether, forcing out all the strength I can muster. Unlike usual, the Ether doesn't move with the slightest hint of effort.

Most people's Ether requires strenuous momentum and practice to even manipulate a bit. Mine has always been... audacious. It moves on its own to spark flames, but right now, it refuses to.

I will not have it. This blood is mine. This water is mine. This fire is mine. All fire is mine. Others can use heat, but only I resonate with the fire itself.

More blood leaks as I lie in this darkness, the agony only surmounting. But I don't care. I push further, feeling something awful happen to my hands. I don't care. I grip tighter. I squeeze my hands and my Ether until a spark emerges from not my Ether but my blood alone.

And in that spark, my vision returns just enough to show a radiant flame, one emanating the feeling of a Sigil. It calls for me. It demands me. I want it, too.

I want to be a Virtue. I want to be powerful. But there is something I want more. I want... I need some control over myself. Willpower and focus are muscles like all others, only strengthened upon use.

In my feeble gaze, two mangled hands reach for the light, but I force them to stop. This promises only power, not control. I need control. I need more than my Power or my Virtue. I need... I need...

I need authority over my own power and myself. And so, I refuse the light. I turn away from the fire despite the clangor in my heart and the absolute devotion I feel to it. My Ether, my Sigil, and my soul demand I take it.

But I cannot. It would be forsaking my friends. I don't give a shit about what that voice said. Prodigy? A wall? Scales? I don't fucking care. I am my own man.

Not some weird voice or even my powers will tell me what to do. Neither will the Mother Below. If she wants me, she'll have to come take me her fucking self. I am me. I am I. I am Bonfire.

The name has never changed, nor do I want it to. It's never risen in might or stature because it is simply what I am. A flame. Nothing special. Nothing untoward. The flame should be inviting, not uncontrollable. It should be just as approachable as the chum smile that sits beside it, roasting some meat and ready to play cards.

Shakily, I stand, my feet cut open by the sand I stumble into. I care not for the pain or the heat washing over my back. The Sigil follows me as I stumble toward the waves, seeking water for the first time in my life.

I don't desire the flames. I wish for peace. More blood joins the shore and enters the waves, enough to return my vision to greying darkness. A greater temperature rises from behind me as I near the waves.

A grand light emerges by my rear as if enraged by my decision, and it strikes my back. I feel fire burn into me. It is... primordial. It is existential. It is soul-deep, but I do not greet it.

Kneeling forward, another gallon of blood enters the waves; I reach for the endless depths of abyssal waters. For once in my life, I wish I had anything but these flames—anything but these flames of destruction and death.

My fingers brush the waves, and they vanish, swept away by the undercurrent. I smile at the sight, unable to comprehend it in my state, and I reach forward again with my other hand. Then, the hand, up to my elbow, ceases to exist.

The heat behind me only multiplies further, rapidly reaching a temperature beyond even my most virulent flame. In response, I Combust my body, countering its fire with my own. As I do so, I embrace the waves, wishing they could put out all the fires.

And they do.