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[indent][sub][COLOR=slategray][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [color=lightgray][I]Downtown Gateway City[/I] - [I]Midday[/I][/color][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=slategray][b]Occupation #1.03:[/b][/COLOR] [I][color=lightgray]An Emerald Rage[/color][/I][/right][/sup][/indent]
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[color=slategray]The streets of Gateway City roared with panic, a symphony of honking horns and terrified screams that echoed through the canyons of glass and steel. Above it all, emerald light streaked through the haze like a falling star, cutting a path toward the epicenter of the chaos below. Sentinel dropped to the cracked asphalt in a whisper of green energy, his cloak settling behind him as his boots met the ground. The Starheart within him flared like a heartbeat, already thrumming with alarm.
He could see it now—a young metahuman tearing through traffic, hurling cars like paperweights, each breath ragged and burning with mindless fury. Their skin was pale, veins alight with a strange, deep red glow that spread like molten cracks across their body in intricate, angry patterns. A bus lay overturned to the side, smoke curling from shattered windows.
[b][color=00583C]“You feel it too, don’t you? That anger doesn’t belong to you…”[/color][/b] Sentinel murmured, his voice calm even as the ground beneath him shook from another of the meta’s strikes.
He extended a hand, runes of containment forming in a circle around the berserk figure. But they tore through the spell with nothing more than a scream and a blur of fists, charging directly at him. Alan’s emerald shield caught the first blow, sending out a shockwave that shattered nearby windows.
[i][color=00583C]That glow… those markings. They’re feeding him somehow.[/color][/i]
Sentinel grunted as another strike pushed him back half a step, the pavement cracking beneath his boots. The Starheart rose in his chest, a coiled flame ready to be unleashed. He countered, his own fist clad in emerald light as he struck hard enough to stagger the meta and send them skidding through the street.
For a moment they locked eyes—the meta’s gaze a storm of crimson hatred, unfocused, pained. And it was then that Alan saw it more clearly: the patterns weren’t just burns or scars. They were sigils. Symbols. And they were [i]alive[/i], pulsing, feeding on the subject’s rage like leeches.
[b][color=00583C]“That’s it. This isn’t just anger—it’s something… done to you.”[/color][/b]
He pressed the attack, weaving between a barrage of brutal, thoughtless swings. Green fire met crimson sigils again and again, until finally he managed to pin the meta under an emerald construct—a cage of shimmering chains etched with ancient wards. The figure thrashed and howled, the marks flaring as if in protest.
Alan knelt, his ring glowing as he called on the deeper power within. The Starheart responded with a whisper of resistance, then yielded to his will, flooding the cage with its purifying light. The marks hissed, cracked, and finally bled away into nothingness, leaving the meta unconscious, the glow fading from their veins.
[b][color=00583C]“You were just a victim… like so many others.”[/color][/b] He exhaled, the faintest tremor of sympathy in his voice as he summoned transport sigils. The figure vanished in a flare of green, sent to secure custody for proper care.
Alan stood, his shoulders heavy, eyes scanning the city as the Starheart flared again—this time not in alarm, but in warning. The leylines beneath Gateway thrummed beneath his boots, a subtle current of magic now tainted with something bitter, furious, and [i]wrong[/i]. The conduits were sick with anger. Poisoned.
[i][color=00583C]This wasn’t random. Someone’s twisting the ley network. Someone wants this chaos. And now… they’ve got my attention.[/color][/i]
He vanished in a rush of emerald light, following the poisoned thread through the web of the world, ever closer to its source.
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[indent][sub][COLOR=slategray][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [color=lightgray][I]Undisclosed Military Facility[/I] - [I]Siberia, Russia[/I][/color][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=slategray][b]Occupation #1.04:[/b][/COLOR] [I][color=lightgray]The Waiting Flame[/color][/I][/right][/sup][/indent]
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The wind howled outside the reinforced walls of the base, rattling the iron doors with each gust of icy air. The soldiers patrolling the corridors kept their distance from the solitary cell at the end of the hall, exchanging wary glances as they passed.
Inside, the man sat perfectly still on the cold cot, his orange prison jumpsuit torn and stained, his shackled hands resting in his lap. The faint clink of the chains was the only sound in the room. His head was bowed, his breath slow and measured. But his eyes burned with a quiet, simmering fury.
A faint glow blossomed in his palm—deep, rich crimson, licking upward into the shape of a small flame that did not burn but writhed with hunger. The air in the cell thickened, as if every molecule quivered in the presence of something ancient and merciless.
The [color=darkred]Crimson Flame[/color] spoke—not in words, but in feeling. In rage.
[color=darkred][i]It comes. That light… it seeks us. It would snuff me out.[/i][/color]
The man’s lips curled into the faintest shadow of a smile.
[color=#CC0000][b]“Let it come.”[/b][/color]
The flame flared higher, brighter, washing the cell walls in blood-red light. The chains around his wrists and ankles groaned as they strained against his growing strength.
[color=darkred][i]Yes. Let it come. And let it burn. The Sentinel will know what it means to stand against us… and fall.[/i][/color]
The man lifted his head at last, eyes like molten coals in the dim light.
[color=#CC0000][b]“Let him try.”[/b][/color]
The guards outside shivered, though they didn’t know why. The cold didn’t reach them anymore—something much hotter did.
And far away, Sentinel followed the poisoned leyline, his emerald light cutting through the dark. Toward the source. Toward the waiting flame.
Toward [color=#CC0000][b]Sokov.[/b][/color]
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