The Eruption of Mountgomery

Prologue

In many ways, I am indeed what I was depicted as. Though, through the lens of a bystander, I had indeed grown embittered. I became a person with nothing to gain—or lose, but at this point in my life, I was ready for the heartbreak. Even if I indeed held something close enough to me to lose, what were the chances that I would regain my footing with society? The loneliness gnawed within the pit of my stomach, consuming me whole. Before he reentered my life, I had given up associating with people. There were those who had attempted to ally themselves with me. Those people, yes, they were spared of the eventual chaos I would bring. They were spared my scalding fury.

You notice it, don't you? The clouds in the sky, the bright orb's rays filtering slower than normal. You certainly must notice the freezing temperatures, the havoc, the starvation caused by the enormous crevice within the earth. Then the grey snow fluttered to the ground. Those who associated with me out of fear were not so lucky. I yearned for acceptance, but the glares from others spoke louder than any toxic word that flowed from their lips. It did not take me long, after I left my parents, to realize what I was. I was undesirable, but I never exactly knew why. I soon accepted being a pariah, and with the loneliness, I found my abilities thrived.

I had mastered the art of manipulation. I suppose that is why she was drawn to me, oh, she's dead now, burning forever by eternal fire. Oh, but I digress. At the crisp age of nineteen, I decided to join the military. Of course, though, I had my preferred ways of slaying individuals, but I had been christened a monstrosity. Was I truly human? Was I truly deserving of this hate? I trained with both sides, enduring hell-like conditions alongside them. Even if I were to have been met with the societal anger and cruelties from what I knew, nobody was the wiser. Soldiers in squads have this familial bond—that mentality of leave no man behind was a powerful force, but soon even that comforting sentiment faded into the inky abyss of betrayal formed in isolation. To what point would this constant betrayal turn me to embrace the beckoning darkness? The heat which flowed through my veins was like a cardigan, it clung to my shoulders as if it were a dense fog. During my continued training, I grew radicalized against the citizens I vowed to protect. Nightmares—ones that left me wincing and the heat within me crackled. In the deep of night, my third year as a combat-hardened soldier, a heat so much more akin to magma than fire raced through my veins.

It was boiling—no! It was worse, it was scalding, crackling and popping within my veins. When that said heat crackled and exploded like prepackaged popcorn, the pain extraordinary; as if I were being cooked from within. I knew I wailed; the sound so primal yet people were unknown of the origins of my pain. Among the soldiers, whispers of my wails, of the pain I endured turned accusatory. These accusations were shrouded in the talk of me being a 'volcano woman' or 'fire soldier', and I must admit, hate toward them no longer present within me, I had developed to take that mantle. However, as a twenty-two-year-old, the phrases caressed my ears, burrowing within my head. The heat grew to a simmer, crackling only when my emotions ran high. Oh, even now it stings, but nothing I cannot manage. Some soldiers formed squadrons, actively seeking my removal. These squads continued to pass the accusations, turning violent when I found myself alone. I was not a volcano! I would beg for them to stop, but you all are cruel. I am but a creation of my past even though it no longer stings. Without much prompting from the commanding officer, I isolated myself further from my fellow soldiers on the fields stained crimson. With the loss of allies and the gain of enemies instead of the destructive fear, an emotion welled within my chest more toxic and inviting than anything I ever felt before. The emotion mingled with the heat and the viscous, crackling liquid which coursed through my veins. It engaged frequently in a dangerous dance with the crimson plasma. I bled, oh yes, but it smoked. What was I?

During a routine barrack inspection, flames bloomed from nothing. I leaned back, my eyes seeming to glitter crimson as they danced with the flames. The door swung open and the friends who still stood by me choked me out of their circle. They were trembling, their eyes wide. Their lips into disappointed smirks. It was at that point; I grew fascinated with my abilities. I would be sentenced to a life of fighting squabbles alone, of utilizing manipulation, inciting fear to gain support. My chain of associations crumbled like a rusting ladder. I found that, with a simple snap of my fingers, lava would blossom before my eyes, morphing into dancing flames.