The city never slept. Its heartbeat was an endless hum of neon, sirens, and machinery. Even when the sky above was dark, the streets pulsed with electric light, casting long shadows over cracked concrete, rusted scaffolding, and broken glass. Smoke coiled from vents, mingling with the acrid tang of molten metal and chemical runoff. Some people had learned to ignore the smell. Aubrey had not.
He moved like a shadow through the streets, hood drawn low, boots thudding lightly against the cracked pavement. Every step measured, every glance calculating. Alleyways opened like jaws, ready to swallow anyone who misstepped. Every neon sign reflected in puddles of oil and water, painting the streets in garish reds and purples. The city was alive, and alive in pain.
The past whispered beneath his skin.
Aubrey's earliest memories were fragmented: laughter, a small hand gripping his own, the sudden heat of a chemical plant fire. His parents had vanished when he was ten. The official story said accident. The unofficial one? Shadows, whispers, corporations with teeth, gangs that hung like vultures over the city. Aubrey had learned the truth: stories were for those who needed comfort. He had none.
Left alone, he adapted. Roofs became his playground and battlefield. He ran across crumbling fire escapes, scaled rusted scaffolding, learned to fight with whatever was at hand—fists, knives, scraps of metal. Every fight, every escape honed him into something sharp, something dangerous. And all the while, there was a flicker inside him—warmth in his palms, a pulse in his veins, a heat that sometimes flared like a warning. Bloodfire.
For years, he had hidden it, fearful of what others would do if they saw it. Bloodfire was not a tool to wield casually. It was a predator, alive, hungry, demanding awakening. And tonight, it would awaken.
---
The abandoned west-side factory loomed ahead like a skeletal sentinel. Rusted steel, broken glass, and shattered machinery littered the ground. Aubrey stretched, flexing his fingers, arms, and shoulders, the familiar ache grounding him in reality. His reflection in a broken pane of glass caught his eyes—dark, restless, focused.
A hiss echoed through the alley—a laugh. Shadows moved. The Crimson Talons.
Varric stepped forward, tall, muscular, tattoos snaking across his arms and neck like a map of blood and territory. His cracked knuckles caught the flickering neon, and his grin was sharp as a knife.
"You've been walking our streets too long," Varric said, voice gravelly, laced with menace. "Pay up, or leave something behind."
Aubrey's eyes scanned the alley. Trash bins, overturned crates, rusted pipes—tools for survival if used correctly. He didn't flinch.
The gang lunged. Chains whistled through the air. Aubrey twisted, feeling the familiar flare of heat in his veins. Bloodfire flickered faintly, instinct nudging him. He struck first. Bone met jaw with a sickening crack. Another lunged. Aubrey rolled behind a dumpster, grabbed a rusted pipe, and shaped it with Bloodfire into a jagged spear. Sparks flew. The fight erupted in a blur of movement.
Pipes clanged, concrete cracked, bodies thumped against walls. The Crimson Talons were fast, but sloppy. Aubrey danced through the chaos, every dodge, strike, and roll amplified by the heat surging through him. His Bloodfire pulsed, crimson veins glowing along his arms and chest.
Then the ground trembled.
Aubrey froze. The asphalt split beneath his feet, fissures glowing like molten veins. A guttural roar rumbled through the street, shaking walls and rattling teeth. The air shimmered with heat, and Aubrey could taste metal on his tongue.
From the fissure, Lilith emerged.
It towered, blackened skin streaked with molten cracks, eyes liquid gold and unnervingly intelligent. Its claws dripped molten ichor, muscles rippling under skin that looked like hardened magma. The heat radiating from it burned through Aubrey's jacket, into his skin, yet he didn't flinch. Bloodfire surged.
He thrust a hand forward. Crimson flames erupted, jagged blades forming along his arms. Sparks flew as molten ichor hissed against concrete. Aubrey rolled behind a dumpster, chest heaving, heart hammering.
"What… what's happening to me?" he whispered, voice almost drowned by the roar and shaking city around him.
Lilith lunged. Aubrey met it head-on, reshaping the rusted pipe into a jagged spear of glowing fire. He dodged, rolled, spun. Sparks flew, molten ichor splattered the walls. The alley became a furnace, debris swirling, flames licking the walls.
Time stretched. Every strike, dodge, and parry was instinct and fire combined. Aubrey's Bloodfire pulsed with each heartbeat, responding to his will, hungry and alive. Lilith shrieked, claws slicing concrete, molten blood hissing where it struck.
Aubrey leaped over falling debris, thrusting his spear deep into Lilith's chest. Molten veins dimmed. The creature thrashed violently, then collapsed into a smoldering heap. Silence returned, broken only by the faint hiss of cooling molten blood and distant sirens. Aubrey sank to his knees, sweat and blood mingling, copper tang in his mouth.
Above, shadows lingered on rooftops—watchers, unmoving. The fight was over, but the war had only begun. Aubrey's fists glowed faintly with residual Bloodfire.
"This… is only the start," he muttered.
....
Aubrey remembered crouching on a rooftop as a child, watching his parents fight to survive the city's decay. Chemical plants, corporate greed, gang wars—it all crashed down, leaving him alone. Roofs became his refuge. Alleys his training ground. Every night was survival, every street a lesson.
He learned quickly. Fist to fist. Knife to metal. Parkour to escape. And always, the flicker inside him, waiting, watching, hungry. He didn't know why it was there, only that it demanded awakening. And tonight, Lilith had forced its hand.
---
Present: the aftermath
Aubrey rose slowly, muscles screaming, eyes glowing faintly. The street lay in ruin—molten streaks, shattered concrete, trash scattered, walls scorched. The Crimson Talons lay unconscious, bruised and broken, but alive. Varric glared from a safe distance, knuckles cracking in silent threat.
"Next time, you won't be so lucky," Varric spat, disappearing into the shadows with his gang.
Aubrey's gaze lifted. The rooftop watchers remained, their intent unknown. He could feel their eyes piercing him, cataloging his strength. He clenched his fists. Bloodfire pulsed, crimson and alive.
"This… is only the beginning," he whispered again, voice steady, eyes burning. The city stretched endlessly before him, alive, dangerous, and calling.
Aubrey had awakened.
War had begun.
And the Bloodfire… had chosen him.