The Blaze Affair

A Samantha Grey story set in Primal Dimension.

Spark of Obsession

The Ember Glows

Bartholomew Bailey, a lanky young man, all of nineteen years, his father's ne'er-do-well and mother's failure-to-launch, with a mop of unruly brown hair, sat hunched over his desk, a pencil scratching furiously across the page. His basement room in his parents' house was a testament to his obsession, was plastered with images of a certain heroine. Newspaper clippings, forum printouts, and his own amateur sketches adorned every inch of wall space, each one emphasizing her shapely feminine form and unique features: the dark, curling horns, the intricate, leathery wings, the subtly pointed tail, all engulfed in flames. Bailey found her "exotic" beauty utterly captivating; his life-long fascination with fire having found its ultimate expression in the infernal heroine. His parents wer relieved, as he'd finally stopped playing with matches and lighters to draw pictures of flaming beautiful devils instead. It was, they thought, a small step up.

He paused in his drawing, his eyes lingering on a particularly well-rendered depiction of her wings, the detail of the membranous structure meticulously captured. He sighed, a wave of longing washing over him. If only he could meet her, express his admiration, confess the feelings that churned within him.

His gaze drifted towards a news clipping on his desk, an article detailing Samantha’s recent intervention in a hostage situation. Her courage, her power, her beauty - it all fueled his infatuation. Bailey yearned to be a part of that world, to stand beside her as her equal, to bask in the fiery glow of her presence, to have her desire him. He clung to this dream with the desperation of a drowning man grasping at a straw.

His daydreams were interrupted by the ding of his phone, an alert from HeroSpotter.com, someone caught sight of her! And close by!

Bailey scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding with excitement. He rushed to his closet, flinging open the doors and grabbing the first shirt he could find. It was a creation of his own, a plain white T-shirt emblazoned with the words "Samantha Grey is HOT!" in permanent red marker. He pulled it on, ignoring the slight dampness from a recent wash, and raced up the stairs, out the door, and into the street.

A crowd of people were gawking, pointing up at her in the sky. Bailey pushed up front, waving his arms frantically and yelling her name, his voice a thin squeak lost in the wind. He was sure she saw him, her gaze meeting his for a fleeting moment before she teleported away. Bailey’s chest swelled with an absurd hope -- she had seen him! She knew he existed! Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, he ran back inside, grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and began to write.

His letter was a torrent of gushing praise, filled with poetry and clumsy declarations of admiration; about her bravery, her power, her beauty, the awe-inspiring spectacle of her fire. He included his drawings, carefully chosen to highlight her most striking features, hoping they would convey the depth of his feelings.

Sealing the envelope with a trembling hand, Bailey addressed it to Samantha Grey, care of the Federal Bureau of Superpowered Affairs, the only address he could find. It was a long shot, but he had to try! This was his one chance to reach out to the woman whose fiery fist was around his heart.

Fanning the Flame

The letter arrived at Virtue Media Management, tucked between bills and glossy promotional flyers, looking decidedly out of place. It was addressed in a shaky hand to "Samantha Grey, c/o Federal Bureau of Superpowered Affairs," and had been forwarded to VMM by the FBSA. Serena Powers, Level 4 Marketing Associate and Samantha Grey's assigned account handler at VMM, plucked it from the pile, her brow furrowed with curiosity. She'd seen her share of fan mail, but something about this one, the slightly crumpled envelope and the uneven handwriting, intrigued her.

Serena sliced the envelope open carefully, wary of damaging any potential treasures within. Out tumbled a handwritten letter, pages long, and a collection of drawings. She skimmed the letter, a bemused smile spreading across her face. It was a gushing, almost worshipful, declaration of admiration for Samantha, filled with over-the-top compliments on her powers and, oddly specific, praise for her infernal features. The drawings, done in a naive but enthusiastic style, depicted Samantha as a voluptuous devil-woman in various heroic poses, her wings, horns, and tail exaggerated to almost comical proportions; all covered in elaborately drawn flames.

Serena chuckled softly, picturing the awkward, lovestruck youth who penned this heartfelt missive. This was definitely one for the "unique and memorable" file. Still, despite the amusement it brought, Serena knew she had a job to do. Samantha Grey's public image was carefully curated, and this kind of obsessive attention, while harmless, could be misconstrued if it ever became public.

She gathered the letter and drawings, tucking them into a folder marked "Fan Correspondence." Later, during her weekly meeting with Samantha, Serena brought up the letter, framing it as a lighthearted anecdote.

"You've got quite the admirer, Sam," she said, a twinkle in her eye. "He's particularly fond of your, shall we say, 'assets.'"

Samantha paused from looking over current merchandizing reults, her brow arched inquisitively.

Serena handed over the folder. "He even included illustrations."

Samantha delicately took the folder, her long, black nails clicking softly against the cardboard. She skimmed the letter, her expression shifting from amusement to mild concern as she took in the young man's fervent declarations. The drawings, while well-intentioned, were undeniably focused on her infernal heritage, emphasizing her feminine and non-human aspects. Samantha, a refugee from a dimension where her kind was feared and exploited, was acutely aware of how such imagery could be perceived in the wrong light.

She sighed, handing the folder back to Serena. "He seems sweet, but a bit... intense. Teenager?"

"From the writing, I'd say about so", Serena offered, stifling a laugh.

Samantha's eyes widened. "Oh dear."

"Don't worry, I'll handle it," Serena assured her. "A standard thank-you note and a three by five should suffice. We'll keep it brief, generic, and absolutely devoid of any language that could be misconstrued as encouragement."

Samantha nodded, relieved to leave the matter in Serena's capable hands. She dictated a short, polite message expressing gratitude for the young man's support, trusting Serena to edit it appropriately before sending it off on her official letterhead.

Serena got to work, carefully crafting a response that walked the fine line between acknowledging the fan's enthusiasm and maintaining a safe, professional distance. The final letter was a masterpiece of PR spin, thanking the young man for his "kind words" and "artistic talent" while firmly placing Samantha in the role of a distant, admired figure.

Blaze Meets Inferno

The heroes arrived at the building just as a wave of explosive energy washed out from inside the Paragon City International Trade Center, depositing a chaotic scene of shattered glass and screaming, fleeing, civilians. Alongside Samantha Grey stood some of Paragon City’s most renowned heroes; all of whom had answered the urgent call from PPD to respond to the Arachnos bombing. They rushed inside.

Outside, the street was a swarm of emergency vehicles and reporters. Word of the attack spread like wildfire on social media, with panicked eyewitnesses sharing images of the heroes entering the building. One such post caught the eye of Bartholomew Bailey, his heart leaping with a mix of excitement and trepidation. Samantha was there, in the thick of the action! This was his chance! Ignoring the protests of his parents, Bailey raced out of their basement, his mind ablaze with a renewed determination to win Samantha's affection.

Meanwhile, Serena Powers, ever the savvy publicist, saw the drama unfolding as a golden opportunity -- several of the heroes were her clients, such as Megafist, TechPulse, Animan, Doctor Arkanist; and including Samantha Grey. She quickly coordinated with the local authorities, arranging for an impromptu autograph session outside the Trade Center, capitalizing on the positive publicity of the foiled attack to further enhance their images – all sworn non-lethal means true-heroes. The public loved them. Serena, recently reminded of some of the public's fascination with Samantha’s "exotic" beauty, subtly reminded the photographers to get good shots of her.

As the last of the Arachnos villains were marched out in restraints, Samantha and her team emerged from the building, greeted by a roar of applause from the gathered crowd. Samantha, always mindful of her public image, smiled graciously, her fiery aura subdued to a gentle flicker. She signed autographs, posed for pictures, and exchanged brief words of encouragement with her adoring fans.

Bailey, clutching a bouquet of deep-red roses, pushed his way through the throng, his heart pounding in his chest. He had rehearsed this moment countless times in his mind, imagining Samantha swooning at his feet, her heart ablaze with passion for him. He reached the front of the line, his face flushed, his hands trembling.

"Samantha!" he blurted out, thrusting the roses towards her. "These are for you! I love you!"

Samantha, startled by the sudden appearance of the awkward young man and his bouquet, blinked in surprise. A ripple of unease spread through the crowd as cameras clicked and reporters scribbled furiously in their notepads. "Oh, um... thank you," she stammered, taking the flowers with a hesitant smile. She couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for the lovestruck youth.

"It's me, Bailey!," he blinked, as she seemed to not even recognize him.

"Oh, Bailey. That's right, you wrote me a letter." She smiled her best public smile at the young man.

"Samantha," Bailey continued, his voice cracking with nervousness. "I know you feel it too. The connection between us. It’s... it’s real!"

Samantha took a step back, her smile fading. "I’m flattered, but...," she tried to smile and look past him.

"No, no, you’re just shy," Bailey insisted, stepping closer, his gaze intense. "I know you’re meant to be mine!"

Samantha cringed inwardly. She had hoped to avoid this kind of scene. This was not the image she wanted to project. She needed to shut this down, quickly and cleanly.

"I appreciate your ... uhh ... enthusiasm," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "I’m focused on my work, on protecting this city. I don't know you, but I'm sure there's someone out there for you. ... I'm not her."

"But... but..." Bailey stammered, his face crumpling with disappointment. "I thougt... I thought..."

"Hey! Hey Kid, that's enough. Back off!," one of Samantha's teammates interjected, pushing the young man back.

"I’m sorry," Samantha said, her voice hardening. "I truly am. But you need to respect our space."

Kindling the Plan

Crushed and humiliated, Bailey retreated from the crowd, the cheers and applause now mocking his shattered dreams. The rejection, far from deterring him, only solidified his obsession. He would prove himself worthy of Samantha’s love. As he retreated back to the sanctuary of his parents’ basement, His anger simmered. He needed power, the kind of power that would make Samantha notice him, power that couldn't be pushed away, that couldn't be denied, the kind of power that would make her his.

He began scouring the net, searching for information about anyone who could grant him that power. He knew he could do it, he already had been able to start fires on his own, out of nothing. There had to be people who could use his powers, help him develop them. His eyes fell on an article about the Hellions, a group of pyromaniacs and thieves known for their chaotic exploits and their obsession with magical artifacts. Bailey knew he had found his path. He would join the Hellions, learn their ways, and gain the power he needed to claim Samantha Grey as his own.

Flames of Ambition

Trial by Fire

The air hung heavy with the stench of stale beer and cigarette smoke in the abandoned warehouse. Bailey, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and dread, stood nervously amidst a circle of hardened Hellions. Flickering torchlight cast long, menacing shadows across their faces, highlighting their crude tattoos and the glint of malice in their eyes.

This was his initiation, his trial by fire. He had sought them out, drawn by their reputation for fire and the infernal. He craved power, the kind of power that would make Samantha Grey notice him, the kind of power that would make her his.

"So, you think you got the guts to be a Hellion, huh?" sneered a hulking figure with a shaved head and a crude pentagram etched across his forehead. He cracked his knuckles menacingly, his eyes boring into Bailey. "You think you can handle the heat?"

Bailey swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "I... I can learn," he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.

"Learn?" The Hellion laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You think this is some kinda school, kid? We ain't handing out degrees in arson here. You either got it or you don't."

Another Hellion, a wiry figure with a wild gleam in his eyes, stepped forward. He held a Molotov cocktail in his hand, the glass bottle glinting ominously in the dim light. "We deal in fire, kid. Fire that cleanses, fire that destroys, fire that makes the weak tremble. You got that fire in you?"

Bailey's gaze drifted to the Molotov cocktail, a flicker of fascination mingling with his fear. He had always been drawn to fire, even as a child. He remembered the thrill of watching flames dance and consume, the feeling of power it evoked within him. He had experimented with his own meager pyrokinetic abilities, conjuring small flames and sparks, but it was nothing compared to the raw, untamed power he sensed in these Hellions.

"I... I think I do," he said, his voice gaining a sliver of confidence.

The Hellions exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable in the flickering light.

"Alright, kid," said the hulking Hellion, a hint of grudging respect in his voice. "Let's see what you got." He jerked his chin towards a boarded-up storefront across the street. "See that store? Used to be a pawn shop. Full of worthless junk. We're gonna cleanse it. You with us?"

Bailey hesitated for a moment, then nodded, his resolve hardening. He had come this far, he wouldn't back down now.

The Hellions grinned, their teeth bared in predatory smiles. "That's the spirit, kid," said the wiry Hellion, handing Bailey a Molotov cocktail. "Now, let's go start a fire."

Bailey took the bottle, his fingers trembling slightly as he felt the cool glass against his palm. He had never done anything like this before, but the intoxicating scent of gasoline and the thrill of impending chaos coursed through his veins.

They crossed the street, their shadows merging into a single, menacing silhouette. The storefront loomed before them, a symbol of everything Bailey despised – obedience, weakness, mediocrity, the mundane existence that had trapped him for so long. He would break free from it all, he would rise above it, he would become something more, something worthy.

The hulking Hellion smashed through the door with a single, powerful kick. Splintered wood flew through the air as they entered the darkened store, the musty smells assaulting their nostrils.

"Light 'em up, kid," the Hellion growled, nodding towards the Molotov cocktails.

Bailey took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. A glint appered in his right eye, then the left, and then his grin widened, and flames flared brightly in the darkness, catching to the rag in the bottle as well. With a surge of adrenaline, he hurled it towards a dusty shelf.

The bottle shattered upon impact, erupting in a cascade of fire. Flames danced and spread, consuming the old wood and fabric with hungry greed. The heat washed over Bailey, a welcome embrace. He felt a surge of power, a sense of exhilaration he had never experienced before -- he was a Hellion, a bringer of chaos, a wielder of fire.

The others cheered, their voices echoing through the burning store as they threw the rest of the bottles. They had accepted him, he was one of them now. He had taken the first step on his path to power.

Rising Heat

The pawn shop fire, fueled by Bailey's reckless abandon and burgeoning pyrokinetic abilities, had spread within the Hellions. Whispers of "Blaze" and his "touched by the Devil" flames spread like wildfire through the ranks. Bailey, reveling in the newfound notoriety, leaned into the persona. He took to wearing a charred devil mask he'd found in the pawn shop's wreckage, the singed edges framing his wide, manic grin. He practiced conjuring flames at every opportunity, often setting random objects ablaze, much to the amusement and occasional alarm of his fellow Hellions.

The hellions made quick use of their promising new member's pyrokinesis; vandalism, thefts, arsons, all over the city from King's Row, Atlas Park, and even Steel Canyon. Mishaps aplenty, but Blaze's pyrokinesis continued to grow stronger.

One evening, after a particularly impressive display of pyrotechnics where Bailey had accidentally set a rival Skulls gang member's pants on fire, Destroyer approached him. Destroyer, a towering figure with a reputation for brutality and a penchant for explosives, had been observing Bailey with growing interest over these weeks. "You got a spark, kid," Destroyer growled, his voice a gravelly rumble. "A stupid, reckless spark, but a spark nonetheless."

Bailey puffed up with pride, his chest swelling beneath his soot-stained jacket. Destroyer's approval was a badge of honor within the Hellions.

"I see potential in you," Destroyer continued, his gaze fixed on Bailey. "Potential to cause some real mayhem." Destroyer, ever the pragmatist, saw Bailey's unhinged enthusiasm and limited but growing pyrokinetic abilities as assets. A loyal, expendable subordinate who could be easily manipulated into doing his dirty work. Worst case, a new hotshot member could use used as cannon fodder.

"From now on, you answer to me," Destroyer declared, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I'm promoting you. You're a junior lieutenant now."

Bailey could barely contain his excitement. A lieutenant! He had risen through the ranks faster than he ever imagined. This was it, his chance to prove himself, his power, and his ruthlessness.

"You'll have two idiots under your command," Destroyer said, gesturing toward a pair of hapless-looking Hellions. "CinderPlug and SparkBlock. Try not to let them set themselves on fire." Inwardly, Destroyed laughed. *These fools are cannonfodder*.

CinderPlug, a lanky youth with a perpetual dazed expression, and SparkBlock, a stocky, nervous individual who seemed to flinch at his own shadow, approached Bailey cautiously.

"You heard the man," Bailey said, puffing out his chest and attempting to mimic Destroyer's intimidating demeanor. "You two are with me now."

CinderPlug and SparkBlock, clearly intimidated by Bailey's newfound status and his increasing power over fire, nodded eagerly. They had found their leader, their guiding light in the world of arson and mayhem. Bailey, flanked by his two new minions, set off into the night. He had a crew, a purpose, and a burning desire to make *her* notice him, even if it meant setting the whole city ablaze.

The Devil's Bargain

The air in the warehouse was thick with the stench of burnt rubber and stale beer, a Hellions hangout in all its grimy glory. Bartholomew "Blaze" Bailey slouched against a crate, his charred devil mask pushed up on his forehead, revealing a mop of sweaty hair. He’d been brooding since the pawn shop fire -- sure, he’d impressed Destroyer, but Samantha still didn’t know his name. CinderPlug and SparkBlock lounged nearby, flicking sparks at a pile of trash, giggling as it smoldered.

The warehouse door creaked open, and Destroyer stomped in, a hulking figure with a pentagram tattooed across his shaved skull. Trailing him was 3K Kelvin, a wiry Hellions vet with a manic grin and a girlfriend -- literal, not figurative -- clinging to his arm. She was a vision straight out of a fever dream: shapely figure and sinuous tail, spiky black hair and horns, glowing red eyes, a spiked collar glinting under a low-cut red vest, Her bat-wings rustled, and a flaming whip coiled at her hip, its heat making the air shimmer. Two flaming hounds the size of pit bulls prowled at her feet, growling low.

Bailey’s jaw dropped. "Who -- what’s that?"

Kelvin smirked, slinging an arm around the woman. "This, kid, is Sasha. My Girlfriend From Hell. Summoned her with a shard I nabbed off a Circle mage. She’s mine - fights for me, loves me, the whole deal." The demoness grinned wide, and looked up at Klevin with adoration.

Bailey’s eyes widened, darting from Sasha’s horns to her tail. His mind raced, a spark igniting behind his mask. "Wait -- summoned? Like, you just... called her up? A chick with horns and fire? Like --" He froze, the pieces slamming together. Samantha. Horns, wings, fire -- his dream girl, his destiny. "She’s like that superhero, Samantha Grey! You’re saying I could summon her?"

Destroyer chuckled, a gravelly rumble. "Girlfriends From Hell ain’t heroes, Blaze. They’re infernal - loyal to the summoner. High-rankers like Kelvin pull it off. Takes a shard, some ritual mumbo-jumbo. You? You’re barely a matchstick."

Bailey’s face flushed, but the epiphany hit like a thunderbolt. "No, no, you don’t get it! Samantha’s already half-devil -- she’s perfect! If I summon her, she’ll see I’m her match. How’d you do it, Kelvin? Tell me!"

Kelvin shrugged, twirling Sasha’s whip. "Got a shard relic -- red, glowy thing. Circle had it locked up tight. Did the summoning chant, lit some fires in a pentagram, hellgate opens, and bam! She popped out. You want one, kid? Takes guts and a talisman of power."

"Do you still have it? Can I use it", he exclaimed excitedly. Kelvin replied, "It was used up bringing my Sasha to me. Wasn't it, Sash?" The demoness pushed up in her high-heels, wound her tail around his arm, and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a burning lip print.

Bailey's heart skipped a beat, imagining Samantha's similar attentiveness to him. "Where can I get one like that?" Bailey pressed, leaning forward, mask slipping over one eye.

Destroyer cut in, smirking. "Oh? Well now," Mischief glinted in his eyes. "I can give you a leed. Skulls got one stashed in Perez Park. The 'Thricestone', they call it. Hid it deep -- sewer under a gazebo. Warded up, too. They have no idea how to use it, yet. You wanna play big, Blaze? Go snag it. Prove you’re not just hot air. Get this done, and you can use it -- once."

He continued. "I warn you kid, that's top-shelf magic. I'll let you use it once, no more. It'll summon anything you want if you set the right ritual up. I'll even tell yah how. After that, you bring it back to me with two charges of that magic left, and maybe I give you a couple more minions for your crew. Got it?" Destroyer suspected these fools would be killed by the skulls over this. But whatever. Skulls were along time rivals, and if the kid was lucky enough and got it, then their ablity to summon Skeleton Lords or Charnel Beasts would be reduced.

Maybe he could make a play for more of the Skulls' turf? Even with only two charges left, a Balrog or two would push those skullfaces back a block or two. He'd trade all three of these nincompoops for one Balrog. Maybe the skulls would kill them, maybe Blaze would get the stone and then they'd kill him. And maybe he'd bring it back. No loss to Destroyer, no matter how it worked out. Top-shelf magic? He laughed inside. Maybe not. But middle-shelf? Sure.

Bailey’s grin stretched wide, manic. "Yeah, boss. I'll do it!"

Destroyer grinned, scrawled on a map, and tossed it and a pamphlet on summoning over to Blaze. "Spell's in there. Go get it -- and her, too, kid."

Bailey cauight it with gusto. "I’ll get that stone, summon Sa -- my Girlfriend From Hell, my queen! She’ll have to love me and obey me!"

Kelvin looked back at his boss. "Send any of the big boys with em, 'boss?" Destroyer quickly shook his head and grinned. "Kid's got this."

Blaze leapt up, pacing. "Cinder, Spark - gear up. We’re hitting Perez Park tonight. We won't let you down, boss!"

CinderPlug blinked, mid-spark. "Uh, tonight? I was gonna--"

"Now!" Bailey barked, mask flopping back down. His heart pounded -- Samantha, his fiery soulmate, was one smash and grab away.

Kelvin and Destroyer exchanged mirthfully cruel glances as Blaze and his minions leave for their task.

Stealing the Flame

Perez Park was a tangle of shadows and overgrown roots, the kind of place where the air smelled like damp earth and trouble. Bailey adjusted his charred devil mask, its singed edges flopping as he squinted at a crumpled Hellions map under the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp. The red X marked a gazebo with Destroyer's scrawled note "Skulls Stash - go get it." He grinned, his heart thumping with visions of grandeur.

"Listen up, morons," Bailey said, trying to sound tough. His voice cracked, as usual. "Tonight, we nab the Thricestone -- big-time magical power. I’m summoning my Girlfriend From Hell, and Samantha’s gonna see I’m no nobody."

CinderPlug, lanky and half-asleep, flicked a spark from his glove. "Uh, Blaze, didn’t you say that about that glowstick last week? My eyebrows still ain’t back."

"Quiet, Cinder!" Bailey snapped, waving the map. "This is the real deal-- ‘Hot babes from the pit,’ straight from the WSPDR Radio ads! She’s mine, got it?" Both his minions laughed, nervously.

SparkBlock, stocky and jittery, clutched a Molotov cocktail like a security blanket. "I dunno, man. Skulls got that spot locked down. What if they’ve got, like, guns? Or skulls that move?"

Bailey snorted, mask wobbling. "They’re just boneheads. I’ve got fire in my veins. Now move -- we’re hitting that gazebo hard."

The trio stumbled through the brush, less stealthy than a parade. CinderPlug’s boots snapped twigs like firecrackers, and SparkBlock’s whimpers - "Don’t let me die, don’t let me die" - drowned out the crickets. The gazebo loomed ahead, a sagging wooden relic tagged with Skulls graffiti: skulls with mohawks, skulls chugging beer, skulls flipping double birds. A rusted manhole cover peeked from under a pile of leaves in its center -- no Skull in sight.

"There’s the stash," Bailey whispered, kicking leaves aside. "They’re hiding it underground. We go in, grab the shard, get out. Easy."

CinderPlug blinked. "Underground? Like, sewers? I ain’t swimming in poop, Blaze!"

"Do you even listen? Kelvin said it’s dry, you dope," Bailey hissed, prying the cover with a stick. "Skulls turned it into a clubhouse. Now help me lift this!"

SparkBlock whimpered but grabbed the edge. With a groan, they heaved the cover aside, revealing a rusty ladder descending into darkness. A faint hum of a generator and the clink of bottles echoed up. Bailey went first, his mask catching on a rung, nearly yanking it off. "Destiny awaits," he muttered, dropping down.

The sewer was a collapsed, dry tunnel, its walls cracked and mossy. The Skulls had turned it into a grunge paradise: sagging sofas with cigarette burns, a card table littered with empties, a generator-powered fridge humming with beer cans stacked beside it. Further down, a dozen Skulls lounged -- some playing poker, others chugging brews -- music blaring loudly, they were unaware of the intruders. Ahead, a shrine to Chernobog loomed: a crude statue of the Slavic death-god, all jagged horns and hollow eyes, draped in black cloth. Beneath it, a wooden box glowed faintly, sealed with a shimmering ward -- a pulsing black rune etched in the air.

"There!" Bailey pointed, voice low but trembling with glee. "The stone. That’s my ticket to her."

SparkBlock gulped. "Uh, Blaze, there’s like twelve of ‘em. And that glowy thing looks creepy."

"It’s just magic, we go slow and quiet." Bailey said, creeping forward. "I’ve got this. Fire beats everything." He edged past a snoring Skull, mask brushing a sofa arm, and reached the shrine. The ward hummed louder, a faint heat prickling his skin. He pulled a crumpled Hellions pamphlet, "Basic Artifact Snagging 101", and squinted at it. "Says here, ‘Break ward with intent.’ Alright, Thricestone, I intend to own you!"

He jabbed his hand at the rune, sparking his pyrokinesis. A wobbly flame flared from his palm, sizzling against the ward. It crackled, then popped like a burst balloon, releasing a whiff of soot. The box lid creaked open, revealing the Thricestone -- granite-hard, jagged, pulsing dull red like a trapped heartbeat. Bailey snatched it, grinning maniacally. "Mine!"

The shrine trembled. A low growl rumbled through the sewer -- not Chernobog, just the Skulls alerting. "Hey! Who’s messin’ with our stuff?!" a beefy Skull bellowed, standing abruptly, dropping his beer. Cards flew as the dozen deathgangers lurched to their feet, grabbing bats, chains, and one very shiny switchblade.

"RUN!" Bailey yelped, shoving the shard into his jacket. CinderPlug tripped over a chair, flailing into the fridge -- cans spilled, fizzing everywhere. SparkBlock hurled his Molotov at random, smashing it against a sofa. Flames whooshed up, licking the ceiling.

"Get those Hellion punks! Kill 'em!" a Skull roared, swinging a bat. Bailey dodged, mask slipping over one eye, and bolted for the ladder. CinderPlug scrambled after, sparking a weak fireball that singed a Skull’s mohawk. "My hair, you freak!" the Skull howled, giving chase.

SparkBlock, last up, fumbled another bottle -- it rolled under the card table, igniting a pile of old rags. The sewer turned into a smoky inferno as the Skulls charged, coughing and cursing. Bailey hauled himself out the manhole, shard clutched tight, as CinderPlug popped up behind him, pants smoldering again.

"Move, move!" Bailey shouted. SparkBlock’s head breached the hole just as a Skull grabbed his ankle. He squealed, kicking free, and tumbled onto the gazebo floor. The trio bolted into the park, a dozen Skulls piling out after them, bats swinging, voices bellowing, "You’re dead, Hellions!"

Trees blurred past as Bailey ran, shard pulsing against his chest. A Skull’s chain whizzed by, clipping CinderPlug’s ear -- he yelped, "I’m hit!" but kept stumbling. SparkBlock tossed a flare backward -- another leftover -- lighting up the night with a *fweee*. It landed in dry grass, sparking a small blaze. "Oops!" he wheezed.

The Skulls slowed, distracted by the fire -- some stomped it out, others tripped over roots. Bailey, panting, ducked behind a thick oak, CinderPlug and SparkBlock crashing into him. "We... we did it," he gasped, holding the shard aloft. "This is it, boys. My big show’s coming."

CinderPlug wheezed, clutching his ear. "Yeah, but my pants are toast again."

SparkBlock peeked around the tree. "They’re still coming, Blaze! We’re so nabbed!"

"Let ‘em try," Bailey said, grinning under his crooked mask. Hellions start fires, it's that they do. They're good at it, even Bailey. Blaze started a conflagration in the park forest, and speed-dialed 911 himself, "There's a huge gang-war between the skulls and hellions breaking out in Perez! The Park's on fire!! Send heroes!", hung up the cell, and threw it into the fire. "Heroes love chaos. Time to light up the skulls' world."

Blaze of Chaos

The Ritual Ignites

The trio stumbled into the King’s Row warehouse, Perez Park’s chaos still ringing in their ears. Bailey clutched the Thricestone -- jagged, pulsing red -- his charred devil mask askew, soot streaking his face. CinderPlug wheezed, clutching his ear where a Skull’s chain had grazed it, while SparkBlock jittered, clutching a half-empty flare pouch. The distant wail of sirens faded as they slammed the rusted door shut.

"Alright, morons, no screwing this up," Bailey barked, voice cracking with manic glee. He dumped the stone onto a crate, its dull glow casting eerie shadows. "We’re summoning her -- my Girlfriend From Hell -- right now! Samantha’s gonna see I’m the real deal."

CinderPlug slumped against a drum, pants still smoldering. "Blaze, we just torched a park. Skulls are pissed, cops are everywhere -- maybe we chill?"

"Chill?!" Bailey whirled, mask flopping over one eye. "This-" he jabbed the stone, "is my destiny, Cinder! She’s one ritual away from being mine!" He yanked a phone from his pocket, thumbing it alive. "And I’m streaming it live -- ‘Blaze Claims His Queen.’ Hellions’ll eat it up!"

SparkBlock peeked through a cracked window, flinching at headlights in the distance. "Uh, livestream? What if the heroes see it? We’re toast!"

"Let ‘em come," Bailey grinned, pulling a crumpled "Hellgate Summoning" pamphlet from his jacket -- Destroyer’s parting gift. "Heroes love a show. I’ll have her bound before they blink." He rummaged in his pack, tossing out candles, a lighter, and a marker, muttering, "Pentagram, fire, chant -- easy as pie." He'd never made a pie in his life.

Meanwhile, in Perez Park, Samantha Grey hovered above smoldering grass, her wings fluttering as she directed a kinetic pulse to snuff out the last flames. Heroes swarming over the scene; PPD cuffing dazed Skulls, fire crews dousing trees -- yet no Hellions remained. She frowned, tail twitching. "Gang war, they said. Looks more like a tantrum?"

Her comm buzzed. Serena’s voice crackled through: "Samantha, you’re trending -- some kid’s livestreaming a ‘summoning’ in King’s Row. Name’s Bailey. Says he’s claiming you as his ‘Girlfriend From Hell.’ Sound familiar?"

Samantha’s eyes narrowed, a chill prickling her spine. "Bailey? The letter kid?" She glanced at a teammate, TechPulse, a wiry hero with glowing circuitry tattoos. A real tech-whiz, everything she wasn't. "Hey, can you trace a livestream?"

TechPulse smirked, fingers sparking as he hacked the feed. "Got it -- warehouse, three miles west. He’s live now."

"Team, let's move out," Samantha ordered, teleporting skyward, the team fast behind. "This ends before it starts."

Back in the warehouse, Bailey scrawled a lopsided pentagram on the concrete, candles sputtering at its points. CinderPlug flicked sparks nervously, while SparkBlock paced, muttering, "We’re so nabbed." Bailey ignored them, propping his phone on a crate -- livestream rolling, comments flooding: "Blaze rules!" "Burn it down!"

He held the Thricestone aloft, its pulse quickening. "Alright, pamphlet says focus on who you want -- fire, chant, done." He’d forgotten the autograph, the authemtic first-hand written name of his obsession, in his rush, mind too ablaze with Samantha’s image -- horns, wings, fire. "Here we go!"

Hellfire Backfire

He sparked his pyrokinesis, flames licking the candles as he chanted, voice wobbly: "From the pit, I call thee -- uh, queen of flames, come to me!" The stone flared, a rift tearing open in the pentagram’s center -- not Samantha, but a hulking form, quickly resolving as a fire demon, four feet tall, still dangerous, all molten scales and chaos, roaring as it lunged.

"WHAT--" Bailey yelped, mask tumbling off. CinderPlug shrieked, hurling a spark that singed the beast’s claw. SparkBlock bolted for the door, sobbing, "I told you!"

The warehouse shook as the demon smashed a drum, oil spilling. Then - bam! The door exploded inward. Samantha teleported in, kinetic field flaring, followed by heroes blasting through. "Bailey!" she snapped, eyes locking on the chaos. "What have you done?"

He froze, stone slipping in his grip. "S-Samantha? You’re here -- wait, no!" The demon roared, charging her. She dodged, fire clashing with its molten hide as her team engaged. Bailey scrambled back, snatching the stone -- two charges left -- and bolted with CinderPlug and SparkBlock through a side exit, the livestream cutting to static.

Samantha cast her power at the imp, slowing its advance to a crawl while the temporary rift faded. With the rift, the imp vanished in a puff of ash, leaving silence. She stepped to the pentagram, wax puddles cooling, and froze -- a faint hum tugged at her soul, like the touch of a ghost. Her tail stiffened, heart racing. "This... this feels wrong," she muttered, it waasn't just adrenaline. The dread lingered as she scanned the empty warehouse. Bailey was gone - and so was that stone. What had he tried to summon? ... She had a bad idea.

Embers of Doubt

Samantha perched on a rooftop ledge, city lights glinting off her horns. The Perez and King’s Row messes were cleaned up -- Skulls in custody, rift dispersed; but that chill wouldn’t fade. She tapped a number into her comm, voice low. "Detective Ruiz," a man answered. "Hey, it’s Samantha Grey. You got a minute?"

Ruiz’s gruff tone crackled back. "For you Sam? Always. What’s up?"

"Ever hear of Hellions using a stone -- red, jagged, pulls at your soul?" She hesitated, tail flicking. "Felt something tonight. Like it knew me."

A pause. "Heard rumors, maybe? Skulls had something Azuria was asking about last month. Hellions want it. Supposed to summon big stuff, but they’re too dumb to crack it. Are you at that King's Row call?"

"Yeah. It's a kid, Bailey... something. I'll pass you his deets, can you see if he has an adult record?." she fowned. "He’s after me. Thought I couldn’t be summoned -- I'm half-human, you know? But..." She trailed off, confidence wavering, and passed his full name in a text. "Just dig for me, okay? And anything else you can find on Hellions and summonings."

"On it," Ruiz said. "Watch yourself, Sam -- we'd miss those cupcakes you bake." The line clicked off. Samantha stared at the skyline, wings rustling. She was safe, wasn’t she?

Rekindling the Fire

Miles away, in a dingy Steel Canyon alley, Bailey hunched over a burner phone, Thricestone; now Twicestone, autograph and drawing, clutched tight. He muttered as he dialed the boss' number. "She remembered me, I’m close, so close!" CinderPlug and SparkBlock slumped nearby, nursing bruises. Destroyer’s voice rumbled through: "You got my stone, Blaze?"

"Yeah, boss," Bailey said, defiant. "Two charges left. Boss ... one more shot at her. I've got to try! I can do this! I can't stop now!"

Destroyer laughed, cold. "You’re gutsier than I thought, kid. Fine; one more play. I’m sending my enforcers -- real firebrands, not your clowns. Set up a trap; big fire, Steel Canyon warehouse, the one on Eleventh. Lure those heroes in, finish ‘em. Samantha Grey too, if you can't tame her."

Bailey’s grimmace tightened, maskless face wild. "Oh, I’ll get her. You'll see!" He hung up, turning to his crew. "Gear up, morons. We’re going big."

CinderPlug groaned. "Again?" SparkBlock just whimpered. Destroyer, meanwhile, smirked to himself -- heroes dead, clout gained, and Bailey expendable. Perfect.

Ashes of Defeat

Raging Inferno

The Steel Canyon warehouse loomed like a cathedral of rust, its walls trembling as Hellions enforcers, lean, scarred figures in spiked leather, doused crates with gasoline. Bailey stood at the center, maskless, his sweaty hair plastered to his forehead. The Twicestone pulsed in his grip, its red glow glinting off a freshly drawn pentagram. Beside it lay Samantha’s autograph, scrawled from the Trade Center, and a crumpled drawing of her in lacy red lingerie, horns, wings, and sinuous tail. CinderPlug and SparkBlock hovered nearby, eyes darting to the enforcers’ cold efficiency.

"Set it off," Bailey snapped, voice steady now, fueled by a night of fevered muttering -- She saw me, she’s close. An enforcer, a wiry woman with a skull tattoo, smirked and struck a match. Flames roared up, licking the rafters. Bailey grinned, wild. "Post it -- ‘Blaze dares the heroes. Steel Canyon, now.’ She’ll come."

CinderPlug gulped, clutching a spark glove. "These guys ain’t like us, Blaze. They’re mean." SparkBlock nodded, clutching a Molotov, but Bailey ignored them, eyes on the pentagram. The enforcers fanned out, weapons ready -- Destroyer’s orders: kill the heroes, let Blaze burn out.

Samantha soared over Steel Canyon, wings cutting the night, TechPulse and the team behind her. Her comm buzzed -- Serena: "Social media’s lit up. Bailey’s challenging you, gave a location even, warehouse fire. Be careful, Sam." Her tail twitched, that chill from King’s Row flaring again. "He’s got that stone," she muttered. "Let’s end this."

They landed amidst smoke and screams, flames leaping from the warehouse. Another hero called out, "Ruiz flagged this kid’s record -- petty arson, no magic ‘til now". Hellions enforcers charged, chains swinging, firebombs bursting -- far sharper than Bailey’s crew. Samantha dodged a blade, kinetic pulse scattering foes, but her team struggled. "These aren’t amateurs!" TechPulse yelled, sparking a shield. Sirens wailed, PPD backup closing in, fire department and paramedics right behind.

Inside, Bailey lit the pentagram’s candles, chanting from the pamphlet: "From the pit, my queen, be bound to me!" He slapped the autograph and drawing down, the Twicestone flaring. A rift tore open -- and Samantha instantly vanished from the fight, yanked into the circle.

Down in Flames

She stumbled, trapped, her costume replaced by the lingerie from Bailey’s sketch -- red lace, humiliatingly sheer. Her wings flared, but she couldn’t move, the Twicestone’s hum clawing at her soul. *Not again*, her mind screamed, memories of chains a century old surging back. Never again. She understood what he was trying to do, now, and raged against it.

Bailey gaped, words faltering. "S-Samantha! You’re mine!" He rushed the binding chant, "Obey me, love me!", but her eyes blazed, infernal power surging. The binds tightened, then strained -- she was stronger now, not the simple prisoner she’d been. Her incarnate roar shook the warehouse, fire and force clashing with the spell.

He stepped closer, entranced and eager, foot nudging the pentagram’s edge. The rift flickered -- she teleported five feet out, back in her costume, rage searing her veins. "Bailey!" she snarled, fists clenched, fingernail talons digging into her palms, infernal fire engulfing her fists, ready to end him. She couldn’t. He soul revulsed in horror. A century of self-discipline won out, she hadn’t killed since the Last War, back home, she hadn’t wanted to, even then, and she would not start here, now. Her kinetic field surged up, slammed him instead, hurling him into a crate. He crumpled, out cold, as her fires went out. There was enough fire here, already.

The heroes rallied, PPD Hardsuits storming in. Samantha’s team subdued the enforcers, water cannons dousing the blaze. She loomed over Bailey as he stirred, cuffed by cops. "You thought this was love?" she said, voice steel. "It’s OBSESSION. You’d never control me -- or anything from Hell. Through your fool-lust it would own you -- consume you."

His eyes widened, epiphany dawning through the haze. "I... I’d be the slave," he rasped, head slumping, tears streaking his soot covered face. The Twicestone, now the 'Oncestone', rolled from his grip -- PPD bagged it, one charge left.

Life in Ashes

Bartholomew "Blaze" Bailey sat slumped in a Paragon PD holding cell, cuffs chafing his wrists, soot still streaking his face. The wall bore fresh graffiti -- "Girlfriend From Hell? More like Jailbird!" scrawled by a snickering cellmate. His devil mask lay confiscated, his crew gone; CinderPlug and SparkBlock ratted him out for lighter sentences. The Hellions’ enforcers, hauled off in paddy wagons, had cursed his name as they went. "Useless kid," the skull-tattooed woman spat, echoing Destroyer’s inevitable disavowal. Bailey’s sobs had quieted to a sniffle, tears cutting tracks through the grime. "I’d be the slave," he muttered, the epiphany sinking deep. His parents hovered outside, grim-faced, promising therapy, a flicker of hope amid the wreckage.

Across town, Samantha Grey stood in Virtue Media Management’s office, flipping through a folder with Serena Powers. Photos from Steel Canyon, her kinetic pulse felling Bailey, the warehouse’s smoldering ruin, the original letter Bailey had written and Serena’s reply, lay scattered on the desk.

Samantha’s tail flicked, her smile tight. "Good. That kid’s obsession nearly..." She trailed off, handing Serena a draft statement, compassionate yet firm, urging fans to admire from afar. "We’ve got to protect them from themselves, too." Serena nodded, tweaking the PR spin, but Samantha’s mind drifted. The Oncestone, one charge left, sat in a PPD vault -- secure, they claimed. Yet that hum, that pull, lingered in her memory. A century ago, she’d been bound; this time, she’d broken free. But how close had it come?

Serena spoke again, eyes cast down a bit. "I should have done better by you, Samantha. As God is my witness, I thought he was a harmless kid." Samantha half-smiled. It wasn’t Serena’s fault. VMM had stopped and handled dozens of other weird stalkers and obsessed cyber-fans here, in this dimension, Perval Dimension, she thought humorously to herself. "I’m still fully satisfied with your work, Serena. You can’t catch them all. But I’m sure you’ll try all the harder, right?"

Later, on her rooftop perch, Samantha watched the city’s lights wink on, wings rustling in the breeze. Detective Ruiz’s voice echoed from a voicemail: "Sam, it’s Ruiz. Stone’s locked tight, favor to you, but I’d sleep better if we smashed it. Call it a hunch. Oh, and those cupcakes? Next briefing’s on me." She smirked, deleting it, but her gaze lingered on the horizon. Her reputation soared -- compassionate hero, unshakable -- but inside, a quiet worry gnawed. If Bailey, a fool with a pamphlet, got that close, what could a real mage do? She flexed her talons, resolve hardening. Never again.