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Losing Angel

Smoke billowed above the forest. A man stood in the center of the burning trees.

He stared down at his hand as the flames licked his fingers. Fire seared his skin, but the feeling of power that surged through him consumed the pain. His anger had caused the fire…fury that the little girl had escaped… fury that the stupid little boy standing outside the ring of fire had helped her.

But it didn’t matter now. He would find another way. The power was worth it. The power was worth everything. He merely had to learn to control it.

And to make it permanent.

Fire twisted and danced around him. He held out his burning hand and concentrated. The flames on his skin snuffed out like a candle. Blackened tissue marred his forearm; heat gnarled his fingers. Anger boiled inside him once again.

But this time he funneled the emotion, and focused on the furnace surrounding him. The fire crackled, and swelled, and then a portion drew back. A gap opened up, forming a pathway out of the flames. The man smiled, cracking the crisp skin on his cheek. Just like parting the Red Sea.

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