Blood Bath Ruin
~
The man's skin blistered beneath Javier's palm, his screams ragged, breaking, desperate. Heat poured from Javier's hand like liquid fire, cooking the bastard alive against the alley wall.
For years, Javier told himself he wasn't like the others. That he could fight it. That he wasn't cursed like the Rivera men before him.
That lie died tonight.
The projects whispered his name like a calling ritual—"Heat." A walking furnace. A weapon. A monster in training. In Shutter-Stone, monsters didn't hide. They climbed. They burned their enemies alive and smiled while the city watched.
The body dropped, smoking, twitching, a stink of charred flesh rising into the night air. Javier wiped his hand on his jeans, the skin glowing faint orange before cooling back to brown.
And then he laughed.
It wasn't the laugh of a boy hiding from the curse. It was the laugh of a man embracing it.
He wasn't ruined. He wasn't cursed.
And in the middle of it all, Javier Rivera stood with blood on his hands, his chest heaving, his heat spilling wild into the street. His skin burned with power, the kind that made men scatter, the kind that made families weep.
He wasn't scared. He wasn't sorry.
This was the world he was born into. A world that only respected violence. A world that demanded monsters.
And in that moment—looking over the mess he made, watching fire catch on the very pavement beneath him—Javier realized something brutal and true:
He wasn't just part of the war.
He was the war.
YOU ARE READING
HEAT
Werewolf"You think you control it? That fire in your blood? Boy... it controls you." Shutterstone Projects isn't a place where dreams live-it's where they get buried. Concrete towers, broken glass, and bloodstains paint the streets, and survival means choos...
