Blaze

Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

I scaled the brick wall of the alley using the claws on my glove for assistance. Once I was atop the single-floor building, I scanned the area. More of them were coming in from the fifth avenue. I sprinted along the edge of the grey roof, keeping my eyes locked on them. As I neared the crowd, one of them noticed me. He was a heavy-set man holding a hockey stick in one hand, and with his free hand he pointed up at me. Without hesitation, I leapt from the rooftop, letting rip a blood-thirsty roar from within my chest.

Men yelled out in shock and fear. Some screamed like girls as I descended upon them. It would have been comical had it not been a life-or-death matter. As I landed, flames exploded from my arms. The first of them who tried to get me received a third-degree burn from me to the face. I lashed out at another of them, an Italian classmate whose name I'd forgotten. They backed off after I'd taken about ten of their number.

I slammed my fist on the ground, jettisoning flames all around me. When the orange monstrosity dissipated, only charred corpses and the smell of burnt flesh remained. There was a gun shot to my left, and I ducked. The bricks on the wall near where my head had been exploded, sending reddish-brown shrapnel flying.

I swiveled around and clenched my fist, letting a searing hot flame gather in my palm. I spotted the guns-man, Jerry was his name, I think. He was in my year. Beside him were two more guys with pistols at hand. I flicked my wrist at them, opening my palm.

A sliver of blinding orange sprang from my hand, and they only saw as it shaped itself into an orb and burnt right through unfortunate Jerry. A split second later, there was a blast, kicking up smoke. And bringing down a small section of the wall.

There was a war cry and I heard heavy footfalls. Without looking, I caught the iron baseball bat that the thug swung at me. Tugging violently, I pried it from his hands and caught his wrist in the same motion. I grabbed his shoulder and pulled at his wrist. There was a crunch as his arm dislocated. He yelled in pain and fell to the ground, rolling about.

As I panted it out, I realized I was barely exhausted. I wanted more. Scanning the area, I found none of them standing.

Turning on my heels, I began towards the streets. Only one name resonated in my head. One hateful name: Carlos

CHAPTER 1

My name is Chris Macmillan, and I've never been the average kid. There was always something different about me, something that I could never tell anyone.

I shut my locker and headed for the toilet down the hallway. The door was grimy and one of its hinges had rusted to breaking point. The toilet itself smelled of piss, and I didn't even want to look inside the cubicle.

I went to the cracked and foggy mirror and checked my face. Unkempt dark hair fell across the top of my face, close to my eyes, covering up the bruise on the left side of my forehead. Another one on my cheek was healing fast, but a new one was forming on my chin. I slipped the make-up case I'd borrowed from my sister out of my pocket. I flipped the case open and withdrew a brush, using the tone that best-suited my tanned skin. It was a miracle, how make-up could cause bruises and scrapes, even scars, to disappear with a single dust of the brush. I finished up and after keeping the brush, pocketed the case.

Swinging the door open, I headed for class. The classroom only had three people in it when I arrived. And one of them was Helena. She sat next to the window, spinning a pen around in her fingers while she stared into the distance with empty eyes. My heart leapt when I saw her. She looked up, as if she sensed my presence, and smiled.

I smiled back. Quickly taking the seat beside her I dropped my bag and got my stationery out.

"Good morning?" I asked. It was an old joke between us.