The afternoon Ashton Finch lost everything was one he’d never completely forget. The details had gone fuzzy over time, but he remembered what had happened, he remembered the burning anger and confusion at the back of his 11-year old mind. He recalled the adults and the paramedics trying to comfort him, but their words were like distant rain.
Ashton remembered sleeping in a room all by himself until more adults took him to his parent's funeral. They passed in that horrible house fire, someone explained to him, though he already knew. He didn’t cry that day, but the flames of anger at the back of his mind ignited.
After the funeral, Ashton was handed over to foster care. He kept moving, family after family, house after house. No one seemed to want to mind the kid who never talked or smiled, the kid who didn’t seem to care about anything for years on end.
They put him in all different kinds of therapy in hopes of fixing the broken boy, but no therapist could coax him into talking, no matter how many kind words they used. No teacher or parent could understand him or why he was how he was. None of the other kids seemed eager to befriend him, but none of that mattered. Not really.
He was 17 when he decided to leave it all behind. He left his current foster house and never looked back. At first, he roamed the streets, the fire fueling him. He hid from the officials, but after a month no one was looking for the missing teenage boy anymore.
When the worry about being found passed, Ashton started hearing voices. No– hearing wasn’t the right word. During the day the voices would buzz in his head, and at night they’d appear as ghosts in his dreams.
Their words seemed to fan the flames inside him. They got bigger and bigger until the anger from all those years ago consumed him.
Fate took everything from you, the voices whispered. It is high time you repaid it. Let the world feel your pain, burn it to ashes.
As the years passed, he began to see the ghosts and the spirits. They told him to have his revenge, to burn the world down, just as his world had been burned when he was still a child. He listened to them, and he could feel they were pleased.
Gradually, the ghosts helped him make his plans. They somehow found him a small army of skeletons and unspeakable ways to seize the world, destroy everything he couldn’t have.
The summer he turned 19, he faced his first obstacle.
~~~
Myles Hale was out in the city, patrolling with James. He loved the feel of his Bow in his hand and the summer night wind sweeping his dark hair back. He bounced around grinning and pretending to shoot at random passersby– without the actual arrows, of course. Most people couldn’t see the weapon, thanks to some awesome magic Amethyst had cast on it.
“Slow down, Hale!” James laughed. He was a little older than Myles– 18. Nevertheless, he was closer to James than his own sister.
Myles stopped and knocked another pretend arrow, aiming it at James. He let the pretend arrow fly. “Pew pew!”
James snorted. “Just remember to keep an eye out for spirits.”
“Like that one?” Myles pointed at a pale white, translucent woman who was floating towards an alleyway. He readied an actual arrow. James’ eyes went wide and he nodded, motioning for Myles to follow him.
They followed the ghost, trying to keep their footsteps as quiet as possible. She rounded the corner and by the time Myles and James caught up, she was gone. The only thing in the Alleyway was a boy of about 19. His long-ish outgrown hair was red underneath the dirt and grime. His clothes were rags. The only unusual thing about him was the way he seemed to glow white.
He glared at Myles and James, pure rage boiling in his eyes as he leaned against the brick wall. The boy raised his fist and his white glow disappeared. In the same instant, half a dozen ghosts surrounded them.
“BRING IT ON!” Myles screamed in delight. Finally, a real fight! He’d been waiting ages for this.
“NOT NOW, MYLES!” James chided, his voice just barely edged in panic. He drew his sword and started slashing at the ghosts. With just a touch of his blade, they exploded in puffs of smoke. Myles joined in, managing to take down two ghosts with one arrow.
The pair knew they had to be careful. These spirits could easily possess them, and that was an experience neither wanted to have.
Just as the last spirit vanished, the boy in rags growled. He walked over to the center of the Alleyway, slowly raising his hands at his sides. His eyes were a show of white rage.
“I am Ashton Finch, and you will watch your lives burn!” He declared, a gold sword appearing in each hand. His eyes were starting to literally glow white.
He charged, managing to open cuts on James’ forehead and Myles’ arm at the same time. James blocked Ashton Finch’s next strike, and as they parried back and forth, Myles mustered all his strength into one kick, aimed at their attacker's head.
His leg connected, a stab of pain shot up it, but Myles accomplished his goal. Ashton Finch crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
James glanced at Myles' leg and winced. “Don’t look down. Here, lean on me. We should get back to base.”
“But what about him? Clearly, he needs help,” Myles gestured to the heap on the ground.
“We need backup for that, Myles. Come on, Let’s report back to Cora.”
~~~
Another battle with no clear winner. The ghosts had found a nice dusty abandoned building to use as a base. Ashton sat on the ground, bandaging his dislocated shoulder and cleaning all his cuts. He growled, anger washing over him for a minute. That had started happening a lot after the Hale boy and his friend had found him in that alleyway a month ago, at the beginning of summer.
Those two kept coming back with the same 50 (sometimes more) people. The number went down every battle. Strangely, most of them only tried to destroy his forces and injure him. Hardly five ever tried to kill him. Four of those were pathetic magic users or out-of-practice swordsmen.
Cora Hale was the only one in the group who even stood a chance of killing Ashton Finch. She’d had murder in her eyes ever since Ashton had killed a girl with bright pink hair. The pink-haired warrior was a strange one, laughing as if fighting a war was the equivalent of laser tag with some friends.
He shrugged off the thoughts. The spirits told him this was just a minor setback. Destroy this small group and the world could suffer his pain.
Why? A tiny voice at the back of his head whispered. He didn’t know the answer to that, though he felt he once did. He couldn’t remember when his fire had ignited, but at that point, he didn’t particularly care.
“Soon,” said a rasping voice. Ashton looked up at the spirit hovering a few feet in front of him. “You will have your revenge.”
And the fire blazed brighter than ever.
~~~
Myles lay on his bed, his eyes boring into the roof. The room was a good size, split into quarters, one for each of the boys who lived in it. It was a crazy combination, but no one complained about it.
His excited aura had been diminished pretty quickly after the fighting began and his friends started dying. A few had noticed it, but no one had offered him comfort. There was no comfort to offer.
Most of the group's energy came from Lucille, but she was now one of the casualties. James took on the role, unexpectedly. He bounded around, encouraging everyone, keeping Cora’s anger at bay.
“Hey man,” Aaron – One of his roommates – appeared in Myles’ line of sight. “You up for dinner?”
Myles sat up. “Yeah. Sure.”
There were nine people in the combined living/dining place. Of course, they still had more forces. These nine were just the ones who lived here.
Aaron and Myles got their sandwiches from a pile on the dining table and plopped down on beanbags. Conversations buzzed around them, but the pair ate in silence.
Once most people were done with their meals, Cora stood up. It took a few minutes, but gradually, the conversation died down and everyone waited to hear what she had to say.
“James and I have discussed. We’re going to try a new attack plan tomorrow. We’ll discuss it when the others get here, in the morning.”
She said it blankly as if daring anyone to oppose her. No one did. Heads nodded, people began to stand up and clear the room of any dinner trash. Aaron and Myles helped out.
Myles couldn’t sleep that night. He wondered how people on the streets were going about their days, while he and his friends sacrificed their lives so Ashton Finch’s army couldn’t burn it all down.
Hot tears stung his face, and he buried his head in his pillow. Myles was only 15 years old and he had suffered more loss than most had by the time they were adults.
~~~
Ashton was a show of rage. He barely remembered his own name through the flames that he’d become. Once, the fire had consumed him. Now, he was the fire. Ashton was nothing but pure resentment.
He banged his fist against the table. “Why are they still alive?”
His ghosts smiled at his fury, which only made it worse. He couldn’t remember when he’d started calling them his ghosts, but he noticed the change.
“Yes, they are stronger than we originally perceived,” one of the female spirits–the one with the gravity-defying hair– mused.
“But we will have their heads. Soon,” a male one added.
“Soon?” Ashton demanded. “You keep saying that! When is soon? I don’t see why we cannot set fire to the world without first having this infuriating war! They will die, anyway.”
“Oh, but that wouldn’t work. They have magic, my dear,” explained another ghost. “They could easily make your target fireproof.”
The spirit with gravity-defying hair nodded. “It is pure luck they haven't thought of it already.”
Ashton didn’t care about their explanations. He wanted to unleash his anger, let it fly free, and destroy everything, and he’d do just that.
“Fine,” he growled, turning to the skeletal general standing in the corner. “Get your forces ready. It is time for more… drastic measures.”
~~~
“This has to be the last battle,” James paced in front of Myles’ bed. Summer was coming to an end. The fighting had lasted two months already. So many comrades and friends had been lost. James was more stressed than the rest, and it was showing. He had bags under his eyes and his skin had grown pale. His black hair was unkempt, new scars littered his arms and face.
“Calm down, James,” Myles tried to stand up, wincing and falling back onto his bed. James’s eyes grew with concern, and he sat down next to Myles.
“How’s the leg doing, sol?”
The nickname was a weird one. James had somehow found out that ‘Myles’ was Latin for soldier. Since then, he’d started calling Myles sol. At the very least, it made James smile.
“Better, I guess,” Myles lied.
“You’ll be okay. I know you will,” James patted his shoulders.
“This whole thing is our fault.”
“What? Nah, it isn't.”
“How?” Myles’ eyes bore into the ground.
“If we’d killed Finch that day, the spirits would’ve found some other kid to use. He’s under their influence, Myles. We can still save him.”
James was the only one who believed Ashton Finch could be salvaged, but no one argued with him. He was the only one with even a sliver of hope left, no one was going to take it away.
“‘Kay. Whatever you say,” Myles whispered, keeling over sideways. His eyes fluttered shut and he slipped into nightmares.
~~~
James was determined to make this one the last battle. Sure, he’d been determined for every battle in the last two months, but this time he was taking things into his own hands. Their numbers were not good– 28 people.
As soon as the two groups collided in battle, James ran around looking for Ashton Finch. He was easy to find since he yelled and roared so much.
James ran to him, trying to dodge all the blades and arrows, but not coming through completely unscathed. There was an arrow in his bicep and a cut across his chest. Neither thing stopped him from reaching his goal, however.
He tackled Ashton Finch from behind, keeping his arms around the boy, using his legs to restrain the lower half of Finch’s body. James’ muscles screamed. His new wounds throbbed painfully, blood-soaked his clothes. Finch screamed bloody murder and demanded to be released but James didn’t move.
As the fighting went on around them, Ashton Finch struggled in James’ arms, cursing and trying to summon his golden swords. In such close quarters, it was impossible.
Hours seemed to go by, but James kept his hold. His eyes were closed, his mind foggy. His shirt was almost completely red with his blood.
Eventually, Finch stopped struggling. His body went limp, and for a moment, James wondered if he’d died, but then he heard the even breathing and realized the guy was out cold. James didn’t let go, he stayed exactly where he was for what felt like centuries, as the battle raged around him.
Then the inevitable happened. James felt his brain shutting down, and had time to think blood loss before the world went dark.
~~~
Ashton woke in a white room, adorned with nothing but paintings small children had made. There was a beige armchair in a corner and on it sat-
Oh. It was him. The boy who had found him two months ago, the one who’d tackled him to the ground in that last battle. What was his name? Ashton didn’t know.
He looked worse for wear. He was pale and hooked up to an IV and a blood bag. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, but his chest and upper arm were bandaged. Despite his condition, the boy smiled weakly when he saw Ashton was conscious.
“Hey, you’re awake. How’re you feeling?”
Ashton blinked in surprise. His tone was like he was talking to an old friend. “I don’t-”
“Oh,” The boy waved his hand as if clearing the air. “I’m James.”
“James?”
“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Just James.”
Ashton was still confused as to why James was acting as if they were friends. He hadn’t spoken much to anyone since he was 11, he didn’t understand what was happening. And how was Ashton being so calm? His fire was diminished, gone. He felt exhausted, disoriented, and worst of all was the fist starting to squeeze in his chest. Guilt.
“I-”
“Hey man, we’re all good,” James smiled.
“No. I apologize.”
James sighed. “None of it was your fault.”
That was something Ashton couldn’t believe. He had killed so many people and he would’ve killed more if James hadn’t stopped him.
“You were under the influence of the spirits, man. I’ve been there. I’d show you but…” he gestured meekly to the IV.
“No- no, that’s fine.”
“Just… turn over your arm. The left one- Yeah. That’s it. See that weird purple scar? That appears when you hang out with ghosts too much. I have one too. No one knows why you get them, you just do.”
“So… What now?” Ashton questioned.
James tilted his head and smiled–He sure smiled a lot. “Me, Myles, and Aaron could use a new roommate if you're up for it. Otherwise, you can do whatever you want. Buy a house, get a job. Normal adult things.”
“I- I think I’ll choose later.”
James nodded understandingly. He drummed his fingers against the armchair, humming softly. He seemed content and happy, glad that the war was over. Ashton could tell he was trying not to think of the casualties.
“Thank you,” Ashton whispered. “I don’t deserve this, but- thank you.”
“No problem, man. I’ll be here whenever you need me,” James continued to hum. It was a soothing sound, and Ashton soon fell into the first peaceful sleep he’d had in years.
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