Caitlan and Aleesha and Aliisha

His hood shrouded his face so that the harsh world would never see the burning flame within him that would cause the uproar the stirred the world into the turmoil it's in today. A myriad of embers drifted from the cracks that covered his skin. Cracks that left his dry and parched skin like that of the harsh, relentless and unforgiving mud of death valleys soul consuming ground. The thickest smoke from hell left his lungs starving for oxygen, crippling away at his throat. Breath wasn't in abundance for him. He was suffocating at each breath. Forcing to limit himself to one breath every minute was enough to make it seem that he was just a hooded smoker, not a freak of nature that would burn down skyscrapers, ravage cites and leave corpses of red dust and bone lying motionless on the street. Every step he took made his legs scrap against each other, picking off bits of molten rocks from the inside of his knees. The fire that burned within him has left his body distorted in a molten rocked formation and his bones cracked and separated, left to float around his body as the blood that once ruled it had left. The blood had clotted to become the magma that pieced the vale of his skin and left him in such tremendous agony that suicide was the option that came across his mind with every cloud of black smoke that escaped from the living embodiment of hell. Help was not an option, not since the last time he sought help, he was forced to leave Idaho in a pile of rubble and ash with the corpses of every citizen blowing away in the wind while their souls were left to haunt his dream, his thought and his every movement. Everywhere he looked he saw ash and fire with the bodies of those he had condemned walking around the streets he does. With every sight of a ghostly ash figure, his rage grew bigger, his desire to burn New York City was growing with every second. No body was safe. No where was safe. The world was condemned to a living hell, by the living hell.