Flame Types

5,789,679

5,789,678

The countdown with those golden numbers hung ominously in the void, casting an eerie atmosphere around Tommy as he stood amidst nothingness, staring at the numbers hovering above him. There was a distant, almost trance-like look on his face as he reached out his hand towards the countdown when suddenly...

"They're Coming!"

A voice, sinister and loud, echoed through the space, shattering Tommy's calm demeanor into sheer fear. His expression twisted with terror before he jolted awake, gasping for air.

"Uh, uh!!" Tommy's face glistened with sweat as he sat up in bed, his breathing heavy. Glancing around his modest, two-bed room, he took in the simplicity of his surroundings.

Just then, the bathroom door creaked open, and Bliss emerged, towel wrapped around his head. Taking in Tommy's state, he asked calmly, "The countdown?"

"Yeah, it's been days since I last saw it," Tommy replied, trying to regain his composure.

Oh, buckle up, because here's the deal: Ever since I could remember, that darn countdown has been haunting my existence. Is it a cosmic joke or just my brain playing tricks? Who knows? All I know is, it's been ticking away for years, keeping me on my toes.

But seriously, what's the deal with it? Is there some deep, hidden meaning behind those numbers, or am I just hallucinating? And what happens when it hits zero? Is it going to be a party or a disaster? Ah, the mysteries of life that I definitely don't have the answers to.

"Are you alright?" Bliss asked in his usual calm manner.

"I'm fine," Tommy replied, getting up from the bed as if nothing was amiss.

"So, how's the master plan coming along?" Bliss smoothly transitioned into a new topic.

"Well, I've got an exam to ace today to get into that class," Tommy answered calmly.

"2-Zes has a point. Two weeks here, and we're still spinning our wheels. This was all your grand scheme, Tommy. I hope you know what the fuck you're doing," Bliss voiced his frustration.

Tommy let out a sigh and approached Bliss, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Bliss, everything will be just fine. Trust me."

Bliss sighed, his expression softening. "I trust you," he said calmly. "So, what's the plan for dealing with the mission from 2-Zes?"

"I've got it covered," Tommy replied with a calm confidence.

Bliss raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Are you sure? You've got a bit of history with that bitch."

"Absolutely sure," Tommy affirmed, exuding a sense of determination.

As Tommy got ready for his first class, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts about his rather colorful life story.

Well, let me tell you the story, I was Born into a rich family, but hey, forget about the trust fund and fancy cars because Daddy lost it all before I could even spell "money." Mom? Oh, she's supposed to be six feet under, and Dad? Well, he's been enjoying the hospitality of the prison system for a solid nine years now, starting from my ripe old age of ten.

So here I am, a product of the hood, where corner boy gigs were my after-school hustle just to make ends meet. Who needs parental guidance when you've got street smarts, am I right? Oh, and let's not forget about my dear pal, Bliss, whose mom might have had a slight addiction issue but was still there for us in a pinch.

Fast forward to a few months back, and our illustrious boss, 2-Zes, ran into a bit of a snag with his usual drug supplier. Cut off like a coupon in a store, which in our world means a death sentence for someone like 2-Zes. Now We are in the academy to find out new distributor.

How am I going to pull off this covert operation in the land of textbooks and exams? Well, buckle up, folks. The fun's about to begin.

..

As Tommy and Bliss settled into their seats in the vast college classroom, packed to the brim with more students than a clown car at a circus, they braced themselves for the basics of using Flames class. This was the domain of those who missed out on Flame training in their youth—aka, the not-so-rich kids. But hey, Angela, the overachiever, was right in the mix. Tommy couldn't help but glance over at her sitting in the middle of the hall, probably taking notes with a quill pen and parchment.

Just as the anticipation was reaching its peak, in strode the teacher, a middle-aged man with a face sharper than a paper cut and dressed to impress in formal attire and glasses that screamed, "I know my Flames." He wasted no time diving into the lesson.

"Now, class, let's talk Flames," he began, conjuring a blue flame with a flick of his wrist. " I know you already knew that but there are three simple ranks of Flames. First up, the Ordinary Orange Flame, thirty percent of humanity has this type of power.

It strengthens the body, powers up weapons, and can even be used for some good old-fashioned flaming fun from a distance, but it don't have any unique features, in other words it's the weakest flame."

"Next, we've got the fancy uncommon rank—the four uncommon Flames, who only one percent of all humanity can use this Flames" As he spoke, a chilly blue flame-like energy danced on his hand. " This is the flame I personally have. This flame is not hot, folks; it's the polar opposite—literally. Colder than liquid nitrogen."

The teacher, with a theatrical flourish, manipulated his blue flames, coaxing them to morph into an arrow of icy blue energy. "Behold, the wonders of precision control," he declared.

"Now, one by one, I want each of you to attempt the same with your flames," he instructed, eyes gleaming with the anticipation of seeing some magical prowess. "In our last session, half of you had your shot at this. Let's see how the other half fares today."

Surveying the sea of eager faces, he asked, "Who's up next? Where did we leave off?" A boy in the back raised his hand tentatively, seeking permission to show off his fiery skills.

With a nod from the teacher, the boy summoned a simple orange flame and concentrated hard, trying to recreate the arrow of blue energy. Alas, his attempts fizzled out like a wet matchstick, much to the teacher's indifferent disappointment.

"Hmm, looks like you need a bit more training," the teacher remarked casually, moving on to the next hopeful student in the classroom.

The next eager participant in the Flame Olympics summoned a dazzling green flame, that danced above his fingers trying to make the arrow shape. However, much like a failed magic trick, the arrow shape eluded him, and the green flame danced aimlessly.

However, this time the teacher, wasn't despointed but optimistic, as he nodded and remarked, "Good effort! That, my friends, is the Flame of Healing, one of the four uncommon flames. As the name suggests, it's all about healing. Quite useful for aspiring doctors."

With that positive reinforcement, he swiftly moved on to save the trouble of the ordinary orange flames. Most students conjured these up like it was second nature. But then, there was a standout among the sea of typical orange hues—a student with a fiery red flame that burned with intensity.

The teacher's eyes twinkled with interest as he explained, "Now, the Red Flame the third type. It's like having a mini-explosives factory at your fingertips. Strong in attacks and capable of explosive bursts, it's a force to be reckoned with."

As Tommy observed the teacher's clear bias towards the ordinary orange flames compared to the uncommon ones, it was like witnessing a flamboyant display of flame-based discrimination.

Now, folks, gather 'round for the groundbreaking news: apparently, the secret to ending racism is to simply find a bigger racism! Who would've thought? And lo and behold, the chosen target for this new brand of discrimination was none other than the poor souls who awakened the orange flames.

Yes, you heard it right. Even in the fiery world of Flames, there's a hierarchy of snobbery. The Flame Wardens, those self-proclaimed guardians of the flame, turn their noses up at ordinary flame users, deeming them unworthy of their so-called divine gift.

Now, to an outsider, this might sound utterly ridiculous. And you know what? It is! But hey, let's not forget the wise old saying: was racism ever known for its intelligence? Definitely not.

Ah, the moment of truth arrived as Angela's turn has arived. With a graceful summoning gesture, she conjured a brilliant golden flame in her hand. The teacher, unable to contain his amusement and respect, practically popped his eyes out in astonishment.

"The Golden Flame, ladies and gentlemen!" the teacher exclaimed with a hint of awe in his voice. " The rarest and strongest flames known to humanity, it's strong enough that it has its own rank that we call rare flame. It's like having a piece of the sun in your palm, capable of reaching temperatures only dreamed of by ordinary flames. And get this, only a handful—okay, maybe a thousand—people in the entire world can boast of having it."

As Angela focused, her golden flame took on the form of an arrow, mirroring the teacher's earlier display. The teacher's grin widened into a full-blown smile of approval. "Now, that's what I'm talking about! Precision, power, and a touch of golden brilliance. You've got the hang of it, Angela. You can wield it as well as anyone."

The classroom erupted into murmurs of admiration and envy. Tommy couldn't help but marvel at Angela's prowess.

Continuing down the line of flame-wielding wonders, the teacher's journey of discovery led him to Bliss, who was sitting beside Tommy with his usual air of nonchalance. With a flick of his wrist, Bliss summoned forth a dark and somewhat ominous flame, its appearance catching the attention of everyone in the room.

The teacher, clearly amused by the diversity of flames on display, couldn't help but comment, "Ah, the final member of the uncommon flames ! Behold, the fourth flame, the elusive and enigmatic Dark Flame. Rare, heavy, and oh-so-contradictory in nature. It's like the rebellious teenager of the flame world—stubborn, intense, and it has many uses."

Bliss, as if to prove a point or maybe just to humor the teacher, fashioned his dark flame into an arrow, mimicking the earlier demonstrations. The teacher's delight was palpable as he praised Bliss's achievement.

"Well done, Bliss!," the teacher exclaimed, a genuine smile crossing his face.

Bliss, ever the picture of indifference, mumbled in response, "Whatever you say,"

And finally it was Tommy's turn. With a flourish, he summoned the seemingly mundane and "boring" orange flame. The teacher's expression, already dulled by the familiarity of ordinary flames, betrayed a hint of boredom. Tommy couldn't help but notice the indifferent look on the teacher's face as he prepared to demonstrate his skills.

Undeterred by the lack of enthusiasm, Tommy manipulated his flame with precision, crafting an arrow that surpassed even the teacher's in intricacy. The arrow bore sharp edges and intricate details, a testament to Tommy's focus and determination. However, the teacher's response was predictably nonchalant as he uttered a simple "Good" before swiftly moving on to the next student.

Beside Tommy, Bliss couldn't resist a jab, "Remember, it was your idea to come to this fucking place."

"Sigh..." Tommy