Titan: by Nick Venom (red scrolls of magic txt) 📕

Azteca suffered from a plaque that every city in the world had; corruption. This corruption created human trafficking and drug rings. Crime followed as murder rates increased after a very dangerous crime lord revealed himself. Flame was his nickname, mainly for his ability to control fire, an ability that could kill anybody within a moment. The crime lord ruled the slum district of Azteca known as the ‘Underground’. The Underground came to consume a fifth of the 234 square mile city. In addition, the Underground’s population was only a tenth of the total population, but the powers that the few in the Underground had, created a barrier that barred police and politicians from entering the area. Any plans to reclaim the Underground led to mass murders and police corpses being soaked in their blood, disfigured, and soulless. The Azteca government, after many failed attempts, decided to stop the Underground from expanding by creating checkpoints and restricting the criminals to that district. Unfortunately, not every officer sided with the government. The criminals were free to roam through the checkpoints and ship out crates of drugs thanks to corrupt officers.

The president of Azteca, Rod Will, spoke to reporters outside of his home in downtown Azteca, a point of economic flourish. “We will eliminate the Underground!” He declared.

“How are you sure that your plan will work?” A female reporter asked.

 “I can’t disclose the details of my plan, but I can ensure that we will make an effort to rid the crime from Azteca.”

“An effort? There are innocent citizens stuck behind the checkpoints! What will your effort do about this?” A male reporter shouted.

“The citizens trapped in the Underground will be saved if this plan succeeds. The only way that it will succeed is if the citizens pledge to contribute to the effort!” Will declared.

The reporters shouted at him, some shouting about the government stealing money while others shouted about the checkpoints and corrupt officers. Rod Will dismissed the reporters and headed inside his home. Security enacted a barrier and pushed the reporters off his property. “Cut the tape!” A reporter shouted. The camera feed, then, was shut off and all focus returned to the news anchors. The anchors talk about Rod Will and his plan while also referencing the past incidents of failure leading to mass casualties. Meanwhile, Grian, a street rat, looked away from the television, which he didn’t own, while sitting on a ledge overlooking an apartment complex. He watched the news from one of the tenants' apartments. He then stood up from his comfy spot on top of the gutters and started walking on the roofs of innocent citizen’s houses, avoiding roofs that belonged to dangerous people. Grian remembered every house from its roof and marked his path via carvings imprinted into the roof. He would often walk on the roofs of abandoned houses and ones that belonged to people who were too scared to leave their houses.

Grian rode a gutter pipe to the ground level and sprinted towards his house. His house was an abandoned warehouse that he made into his makeshift base of operation. The base was the size of a small apartment and had a couch in the middle of the building. Aside from the couch was a lonely chair and empty mini-fridge which were the fruit of his adventures through the Underground. 

Grian closed the makeshift door and went over to the couch, plopping himself on top of it. His hands ached with short bursts of pain as small calluses formed on his palm. His messy black hair covered his eyes completely due to barbers going near-extinction. Any barbers in the Underground were killed or enslaved by Flame. Fortunately, Grian didn’t want to mess with his hair as it shielded his forehead scars from outsiders, some of those scars belonging to the times that he walked on dangerous peoples’ roofs and overstepping boundaries established by Flame’s crew. Beaten to near death made him fear death less. 

“Fixing the Underground?” He muttered. He plopped his head on the armrest of the couch and looked up at the sky through the broken roof. “That's… impossible to do.” He chuckled. “If only though,” His voice trailed off as his eyes closed the curtains. His body slumped and attached itself to the couch. The day, then, passed without incident. Grian slept peacefully, but once the sun descended, chaos reigned free. 

“What’s the point of killing him?” Asked a man dressed in solid black clothing. The only thing exposed was his dark blue hair styled upwards.

“We’re not here to kill anybody. Only here to nip a bud before it blooms.” exclaimed the other man who was dressed in black from head to toe. None of his features were exposed.

“Sounds like we’re killing him.” The first man responded.

“Flame wants him crippled.” The second man said.

The first man reached the makeshift door and pushed it open ajar, peeking into the warehouse. He didn’t notice anyone on the couch or within his line of sight. “I’ll open the door and you make the hit,” he ordered. The second man nodded. The first man took a few steps backward before charging at the door with full force, breaking it into pieces and launching himself onto the dirt floor. The second man rushed in with a gun in his hand. He waved the gun wildly around while looking for Grian.

“He’s not here,” whispered the second man.

The first man got up. “He has to be here,” He looked around the entire warehouse to find nobody within the rooms. He did notice that the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen was cracked.

“Hey! Come check this out!” he exclaimed.

The second man walked up to the wall and noticed the crack. “If you’re in there kid, you have five seconds to leave before we torch this place.” He declared. He looked over at the first man. The first man reached into his pocket and brought out a lighter. “1,”

Grian snuck into the crack in the wall and waited for the two men to leave, but he was, unfortunately, found out by them. He held onto a dagger that he hid under a couch cushion while thinking of a plan.

“2,”

Grian moved slowly towards the entrance.

“3,”

The first man’s hands started shaking.

“4,”

Grian was now at the entrance with the dagger, ready to pounce.

“5!” The second man exclaimed. “Light the place.” The first man nodded and looked for a piece of wood to light. Grian used this moment to jump out and pounce on the second guy. He aimed the dagger at the guy’s throat but missed. “Get this bastard off me!” He shouted. The first guy ran towards Grian. The second guy waved the gun around and fired off shots blindly. The bullets whizzed past Grian’s head and ricocheted off different pipes, landing near the first guy. Grian sat on the chest of a guy who was double his size. Grian drove the dagger into the guy’s throat as the guy tried ripping the dagger out. Unfortunately for the guy, Grian pushed the dagger deeper into his throat. The guy began gurgling out blood. The first guy, cowardly, dropped the lighter and ran out of the front door. Grian continued to shove the dagger down the guy’s throat. The guy tried to fight Grian off but was losing strength at an exponential rate. Grian finished driving the dagger through the guy’s throat which cut off his circulation and killed him off in the process. Grian wiped the sweat off his forehead which, shortly, was replaced with blood. Grian got off the guy and grabbed the lighter. He then walked to the couch and pulled out a gasoline bucket which he drenched the entire warehouse in. He walked over to the backdoor before looking over his shoulder at the guy, throwing the lighter onto the guy’s dead corpse and flooding the warehouse with fire. He ran out of the building, avoiding the people who heard the shots and the first guy who tried to explain himself to his gang. His head was, then, sliced off and dropped into the burning building as Flame didn’t have the need for cowards in his gang. The first guy went against the ironclad rule of “Cowardice is death” bringing him his demise. Meanwhile, Grian ran from the building and climbed the gutters to reach the roofs. He followed the roofs, as far as they would allow him to go, and as far away as he could get from the crime scene.

Rod Will talked to the head of Operation X, Jim Harold. Operation X was the codename of Will’s best plan to combat the Underground. The only plan he had in mind, that could reach their goal of recovering the district. Jim Harold walked away from Will and closed in onto a glass sphere containing a mix of every element in the world. “This is Operation X,” declared Harold.

“Will it be enough?” Will asked. Harold nodded and grabbed a pair of tongs from the side of the sphere. While wearing gloves, he opened a hatch that sat on top of the sphere. He used the tongs to squeeze through the hatch and grab at the mix of elements. Two seconds went by before he pulled the tongs out, revealing a crystal forming around the tip of the tongs. Harold closed the hatch and rested the tongs on the side of the globe. “What will this crystal do?”

“We infuse a full crystal with an individual, allowing them to develop powers,” Harold explained.

“Do we have volunteers for the operation?”

“We will. For now, there are none.”

Will stroked his beard. “Find one immediately.” He ordered. Jim Harold took a step back. “You heard me. Find someone that can handle this power.” He shouted. Harold nodded and scrambled out of the lab towards a vehicle sitting outside.

Grian watched as Flame’s gang departed the scene from a roof, a block away. The men that attacked him were now dead. Meanwhile, Grian looked at his hands, which was covered in blood. He watched the blood as it circled around in his hands, moving from one side of his palm to the other. “Interesting isn’t it?” asked a man behind him. Grian turned around with the dagger pointed towards the man.

“Who are you?” Grian asked while glancing over at his the man’s side. 

“Don’t worry, I’m alone,”

“What… what do you want?” He asked while inspecting the man. He was dressed in a similar outfit of black clothing that covered his body except for his face, which was bruised and scarred. A scar above his left eyebrow and one directly through his face. He wore a twisted grin, happy with the current events. His long yellow hair swayed in the air.

“Nothing much.” It was now the man’s turn to inspect Grian. “Just wanted to see the kid that brought down one of our men and forced us to kill the other.” Grian stayed silent, watching the man's slight movement. “I see the fierceness in your eyes. How ‘bout you join Flame’s gang. I’ll be sure to make proper use of you. Maybe even get you a chick and some good food.” he declared.

“N-no,” Grian whispered.

“Did I just hear no?” The man asked. His twisted grin faded. “Do you really want to make that decision?”

“I-I-I… yes.” Grian spat out.

“Hmm. Then I guess you gotta go.” The man’s muscles, which were meek and slim, slowly expanded to the size of a large flatscreen television. “They call me Tank. You’ll see why,” Tank winded up a punch. Grian looked at his sides and noticed Flame’s men surrounding him, appearing, seemingly, out of nowhere. They blocked every exit except the one behind Grian. The grim reaper stood behind him. “See ya!” Tank shouted. He threw the punch and hit Grian, dead center. Grian propped his dagger in front of him,