The moment Caleb's words hit him, Michael's world tilted.
"It's heading toward Midtown. Toward Nicholas."
Michael didn't hesitate. His legs were already moving. The tears hadn't dried on his face, his chest still ached from the argument, but none of that mattered now. His little brother—his only brother—was walking straight toward danger, and Michael had no intention of letting that be the last thing he ever did.
He sprinted. Through the broken gate of the old park, down the sidewalk slick with last night's rain, feet pounding against the pavement. Caleb called after him, but the words dissolved in the wind.
Michael's mind spun, replaying everything: Nicholas's voice trembling with pain, the fury in his eyes, the way he stormed off. And now this. Now this. Some alien thing crashing into the city again, and the boy who'd just screamed that the world hated him was aloneheading straight toward it.
It wasn't fair. None of it was.
Not the looks they got in school. Not the bruises Nicholas tried to hide. Not the way their father kept disappearing into silence.
And not this—this goddamn nightmare happening all over again.
By the time Michael reached the first street cordon, the panic had already begun. Sirens echoed through the alleys. Emergency lights painted the glass towers in harsh red and blue. Civilians were being ushered away in droves. Armed drones hovered overhead.
"Stay back! This zone is under emergency lockdown!" a soldier barked.
But Michael ducked under the barricade, heart hammering.
He didn't see Nicholas—yet. Just the chaos. And the crater.
A deep, smoking wound in the asphalt, near the remains of an overturned monorail car. Cars twisted into burning metal. Mana sparks flickered like angry fireflies in the air, rippling with unnatural heat.
And then he heard it.
The sound of thunder—sharp and sudden.
And Nicholas.
The boy stood in the center of the street, arms raised, lightning crackling from his fingertips. He faced a hulking figure: some alien warform, massive and jagged, with claws that shimmered like obsidian.
Michael's breath caught. The creature was at least three times Nicholas's size. And Nicholas—though strong, though gifted—was still just a kid.
His limbs shook with exhaustion. He fired another bolt, but it barely slowed the creature. It roared and lunged.
Michael didn't think. He just moved.
He sprinted into the fray, ignoring the shouts behind him. His legs felt like they were burning, every muscle begging him to stop. But he reached Nicholas just as the creature's claw arced downward.
He shoved his brother aside—hard.
Then the claw hit him.
Pain.
White-hot. Blinding. Like his body had been split in half. The force launched him backward, slamming him into a car. Metal crumpled around him.
He couldn't breathe.
But Nicholas was safe.
He could hear his brother's voice calling his name, choked and panicked. But the sound was distant, warped by the pressure in his skull. He blinked—and saw the creature turning. Advancing. The smell of smoke filled his nose. Blood ran down his side.
Was this it?
Would it end like this?
Would he die powerless?
No.
No.
Not while Nicholas was still in danger. Not while his brother still screamed his name.
Absolutely — here is your continued Chapter 10 scene with the sequence you described. This segment picks up right after the alien hits Michael and prepares to strike Nicholas. It builds tension through slow-motion perspective, captures the intensity of Michael's emotional breakthrough, and climaxes with his explosive flame awakening.
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Chapter 10 (Continuation): The Fire That Answers
The creature's claw tore across Michael's side, flinging him against a dented car door. He crumpled to the ground, gasping, the air ripped from his lungs. Pain roared through his ribs like a metal spike had been driven into him. Everything blurred—the burning cars, the screaming civilians, the towering alien with gleaming armor and jagged limbs.
Through the haze, he saw Nicholas.
The boy was still standing, lightning arcing across his arms, teeth bared, defiance in his eyes even through the tremble in his knees. He was fighting. He was trying.
But the alien turned toward him.
Its eyes glowed violet. Its claw rose.
Nicholas didn't flinch. He surged forward with a blast of lightning, striking the beast in the chest. The force made the creature stagger—but only for a second.
Then it roared.
And brought its claw down.
Everything slowed.
Michael's vision shifted—sounds dulled, color faded. He saw it all as if through water: the claw descending, crackling with alien energy… Nicholas, frozen in place… the world holding its breath.
One inch.
One inch from tearing through his brother.
"No," Michael gasped.
Then he screamed.
And the air around him ignited.
It wasn't a flame sparked by friction, or conjured through thought. It was raw and pure, summoned by an urge to protect his brother and a pain so deep it clawed out of his soul and answered in fire. It erupted from his body in a tidal wave of blazing heat, flooding the street, swallowing cars, buildings, light itself. A vortex of orange and gold surged outward with a deafening roar, forcing the alien back and shielding Nicholas like a living barrier.
The alien screeched, staggering in the flames, arms raised to block—but the inferno consumed everything.
Michael stood. Somehow.
His body was wreathed in fire—shoulders, chest, even his hair flickering like a lit torch. But he wasn't burning instead the flames was healing him. The heat bowed to him, curled around him like armor, roared through him like breath.
He looked down at his hands—flames danced across his fingers, not hurting, but alive.
"I did it," he whispered.
Then he laughed. Not manic. Not crazed. Just… amazed.
"I finally did it."
The moment was short-lived.
Through the flames, the alien pushed forward. Its skin blistered. Its armor cracked. But still it came.
Michael's heart jumped into his throat. His breath caught—but only for a second.
Not again.
He clenched his fists, and the fire answered with a growl.
The street cracked beneath his feet as he stepped forward, raising both hands.
"You're not touching him," he growled.
The flames surged.
He screamed, and with a final roar, hurled every ounce of fire he had forward—an explosion that lit up the entire block in pure, searing light.
The alien was engulfed.
It didn't even have time to scream. Just a flicker of silhouette, then nothing.
Silence.
Smoke rose in tendrils. The pavement glowed red-hot. Nearby cars were melted husks, buildings blackened. A crater smoldered where the alien had stood.
Michael staggered, chest heaving.
The fire around him flickered, then faded. His knees buckled.
"Michael!" Nicholas shouted, rushing forward—but too late.
Michael hit the ground.
His breathing was shallow, heat still radiating off his skin. But his expression, just before his eyes fluttered shut, wasn't pain.
It was peace.
He'd finally awakened.
This was how humanity got one of it strongest protector and would soon be known as flame boy guardian of earth