The Eruption of Mountgomery

Chapter 2

Nero was an FBI agent—working as a lone wolf on murder and kidnapping cases. He had just joined at the time of his disappearance, her death, and his abilities were well concealed. Unlike Blaise who had a temper to match her powers, she was the Queen of fire—the feared queen of fire, but the fear was misplaced. Blaise was hated for powers she hadn't realized she possessed. Did he still love her? Was it his love of her that dictated the knowledge that she could not be dead? He had access to every missing persons' report, and it was a federal case—she could not have been dead. It was simply not possible. She was christened a national security risk—she was a soldier! She willingly placed her life on the line for a country of people who loathed her on the simple prospect she had existed. However, Nero was able to gain access to the body of the woman he defended in grade school. Upon entering the morgue, the doctor informed him that the body of Vesuvius did not show signs of the trauma dictated to the drowning. The prison garb she would have been wearing was the same, yes, but this body was not that of Blaise. The body was that of some homeless woman who I had stumbled upon—it was easy to lead her to her death like the sacrificial lamb she really was.

Keeping that information to himself, Nero pulled on the hood of his jacket as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. Upon sauntering back to his jeep, he yelped like a whipped dog. Nero knew she had to still be alive—that fact was evident enough in the medical examiners' documentation. She illustrated signs of being bound as expected and there was the filling of water in the victim's body, but who was the victim if Blaise was alive? He loathed the prospect that she was left alone to endure betrayal after betrayal. It was the death of Drew Cooper that he recognized that vengeance was easily achieved when the redresser is supposed to be dead. Drew Cooper's body was recovered near the Potomac river. Cooper's body was the cleanest body consumed by a blaze that he had ever seen. However, there was a small note scrawled in feminine handwriting. You really want me to assassinate somebody for you? Mister Cooper knew who I was the moment I laid eyes on him. Strange—how you can take the life of somebody you are supposed to love—

Drew was an ecologist, employed by the EPA—he was a government worker, but there was no true need for his death. The case was an open and shut case, however when one witness stepped forth to issue a statement, Nero sought after answers. Blaise' death was deemed nothing more than a tragic accident by the government, if it was even on par for those standards. The witness to have seen Cooper alive claimed that a person encased by darkness spoke animatedly with Mister Cooper before entering his place of residence. When Nero inquired if the person had any identifiable features and the woman nodded, she wore a crimson bandanna, concealing her jaw and nose. The witness also claimed that Cooper and his potential killer seemed closer than she had anticipated. The witness also stated there was a loud crash, like thunder, or the sound of a volcano erupting. Nothing was left of Cooper's residence, just the metal and wooden frame of a new apartment complex. There were no other casualties, but a chill skittered up Nero's spine and he flinched visibly at the implications. Blaise was never dead—however the evidence was all circumstantial. He needed proof that it was her—he needed her to know that there were people who supported her. He needed her to realize that he would not fade out into the darkness that would consume her whole.

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Really? I am indeed a blaze, but that is not my name. In the virtual realm, I am a master, I am an equal, someone not judged solely based upon my past. There was a point in my life, in that haze of loneliness where I cursed my powers, where I cursed my allies, I cursed the betrayal, the ignoring from my allies, but nothing quite affected me like his abandonment. If Loch was thrust into a line-up with those height lines, I could easily recognize him for those eyes. He did not matter, I assure you, yet I awake dripping sweat as if I just stepped out of a cool pool. There were other victims and currently, I have my eyes set upon one. He saunters down the boardwalk with a shit-eating grin and a swagger to match. I growled low; it was deep in the back of my throat. The bandanna clings from the pocket of my jacket. However, that message from him bothers me. It was never uncommon for my clients to message me who they wished to see vanquished, but to state that I charged a reasonable price, then not name the said price. The fact that I am dead in the eyes of the general public, leaves me with a lot of wriggle room. I was seen—cloaked by darkness, but the only thing indicative of my presence, that crimson bandanna and my piercing crimson eyes. I ensure you, it is intended to be the last thing the vanquished see for the last thing I saw—NO! I am alive. I am cutthroat. Scrolling through my website, I notice something is off. I allow for comments, for recommendations for how to—I never wanted to use my abilities for these sorts of tasks. Know well that I should feel bad, I should feel something for the acts my abilities allowed me to complete, however I feel nothing. I yearned to ascend from my station, ascend from the life of nothing more than a killer.