"Once this rain is over"
(I can only write ten thousand characters a day at most. Here are eight thousand today. I'm burned out.)
(John will appear soon.)
Fucking hell...
It was Lamplighter.
At the sight of that unmistakable fighting style, Frenchie's head instantly buzzed.
Then the blood in his body ignited, surging madly through his veins toward his head, the veins at his temples bulging.
He stared fixedly at that face, blood vessels standing out one by one in his eyes. The bomb-disposal pliers in his hand clattered onto the concrete floor.
Five whole years.
He had seen that face countless times in his dreams.
"Lamplighter..."
He ground the name out through clenched teeth. The next second, he yanked the pistol from the small of his back and charged forward, forgetting even to take the safety off.
"Fuck you! You son-of-a-bitch bastard!"
Mother's Milk had no idea why Frenchie had suddenly boiled over, but he instinctively moved to block him.
Frenchie was just a fucking ordinary human. If he charged in like this, he wouldn't even know what killed him.
Reacting, he turned and stepped sideways into his path.
His thick arm barred Frenchie's chest like an iron railing, his entire body pinning him down like a mountain.
"Frenchie! Calm down!"
"Get out of my way! Calm down, my ass!"
Frenchie struggled like a madman, his arm muscles rigid, fighting so hard that even Mother's Milk was forced half a step back.
"He burned Mallory's grandchildren to death! Two kids who were only seven! He roasted them alive! He's a fucking animal!"
(Mallory was Butcher's former female superior. In the original, that little beast Ryan killed her.)
(Singling out that beast Ryan here. I really want to write Ryan's death.)
Up ahead, Lamplighter's eyelids lifted slightly at the name "Mallory."
His gaze landed on Frenchie's face and slowly swept over it twice, his brow gradually furrowing.
A few seconds later, he scoffed.
"Oh, it's you. That little punk who used to trail behind me like a stray dog."
The fireball spun around his fingertips, tongues of flame licking his knuckles without affecting him in the slightest.
He was immune to the heat of flames.
Then the temperature rose a little further.
The plastic conduits lining both sides of the corridor began to soften, dripping clear molten liquid onto the floor.
"It's been so many years."
Lamplighter's expression darkened.
"They've already burned to ash. What needed burying was buried long ago. Is it really that fun to keep harping on it?"
At those words, Frenchie felt as though something had stabbed him hard through the heart.
"Buried?"
"Who the fuck are you to talk about burying them? You sneaked into someone else's home in the middle of the night and burned two sleeping children alive! You're not even human! You belong in the eighteen levels of hell!"
"I belong in hell?"
Lamplighter suddenly laughed.
He took a step forward, and the heat surged farther ahead. Mother's Milk had to retreat half a step, bracing against it with the steel plate he had picked up.
"What about you, Frenchie?"
"That night, you were in the car at the mouth of the alley, weren't you? You watched me leave the nightclub. You watched me head toward Mallory's house.
"You had a radio in your hand. You could have called someone. You could have stopped me. So what about you?"
He took another step forward, the flames reflected in his eyes like two lumps of red-hot charcoal.
"You watched me go. You did nothing."
"Frenchie, you're a fucking murderer too. Those children's blood is on your hands as well.
"What right do you have to stand here and curse me?"
At Lamplighter's final words, Frenchie suddenly froze.
His lips parted, but not a single word came out of his throat.
Eight years ago, Frenchie still had medium-length curls, not the short buzz cut he wore now.
Nor had he been alone.
He, Cherie, and his friend Jay had crowded into that leaky rental on Ninth Street.
The three stole cars, fenced stolen goods, and fought other gangs for turf. Their lives were shit, but they were lively.
They drank the cheapest canned beer and talked about robbing a big bank someday.
They would move to the seaside and get Cherie's younger brother out of foster care.
Back then, they feared neither heaven nor earth, believing youth was capital they could squander at will.
Until the winter five years ago, when they stole a limited-edition Chevrolet and got double-crossed while selling it. All three were wiped out in an instant.
In the police interrogation room, Mallory sat across from him and pushed over Jay's and Cherie's criminal records, a thick stack.
She said those charges added up to twelve years.
If you want to help your friends, work for me. Keep an eye on a few supes and pass me information.
Once the job is done, I'll wipe both their records clean. They can be released right now.
Frenchie had no choice. He agreed.
At the time, he thought, Isn't it just tailing people? I won't have to kill anyone or burn anything down. It's no big deal.
And Lamplighter was their first target.
Mallory said this man had dirt on Vought, and they needed to turn him into an inside source.
On the night it happened, he waited at the mouth of the alley across from the nightclub. The car's heater was broken, and he huddled in a battered jacket, watching the club's entrance.
The radio was on, pressed to his ear.
He had been following Lamplighter for three weeks. Soon, he would find a lead.
But just then, his phone suddenly rang.
It was Cherie.
She was crying so hard over the phone that she could barely breathe. She said Jay had overdosed, was foaming at the mouth and convulsing all over. She told him to hurry back, or it would be too late.
Frenchie's thoughts immediately descended into chaos.
He looked up at the nightclub entrance. People streamed in and out, the colored lights flashing dizzily.
Besides, Lamplighter had only gone in an hour ago. Surely he would stay another two or three hours.
I'll only go back for half an hour. I'll take Jay to the hospital and come right back. Nothing will happen.
With that thought, he started the car.
When he returned to the rental, the place was a mess.
Jay lay on the floor. Frenchie hurriedly dropped to his knees to make him vomit and perform CPR, his fingers trembling beyond his control.
He struggled for over forty minutes straight. Only when the ambulance siren finally sounded did Jay slowly regain consciousness.
Frenchie breathed a sigh of relief.
By the time he drove back to the nightclub, the entrance was already deserted.
Even then, he thought, It's fine. I only lost him once. There'll be plenty of chances next week.
But the very next morning, the news exploded.
A fire had broken out at Mallory's home late at night. Two seven-year-old children had been trapped inside and died despite rescue efforts.
On television, firefighters emerged carrying stretchers covered in white sheets. Beneath the sheets were two tiny sets of remains.
Frenchie crouched at the alley entrance and smoked an entire pack of cigarettes. When the wind blew, all the ash drifted onto his trousers.
His fingers trembled so badly he could barely hold a cigarette.
It was all his fault.
If he hadn't left, if he had kept following, if he had so much as told Mallory...
Those two children would not have died.
More ironically still, Jay, whom he had fought so desperately to save, died in the rental six months later anyway.
From an overdose.
By the time he was found, his corpse was already marbled, half a syringe still clutched in his hand.
He hadn't saved anyone.
He hadn't kept his brother alive, and two innocent children had become two handfuls of ash because of his half hour of selfishness.
That guilt had lodged in his chest like a wad of waterlogged cotton, blocking it solid for five whole years.
"What, hit the nail on the head?"
Lamplighter's mocking voice rang out again, the fireball at his fingertips swelling larger.
"I thought you must have some real ability, coming here for revenge... Turns out you're just another coward who hides in the back."
"Since you're here, none of you are leaving."
Lamplighter's voice suddenly turned cold.
"Stay here and join those two children in the grave. Consider it earning yourselves a little merit."
The instant the words left his mouth, he twisted his wrist.
That huge fireball hurtled toward them with a roar!
"Frenchie, move!"
Mother's Milk roared and shoved the dazed Frenchie aside, raising the fire-resistant steel plate horizontally in front of himself.
Boom!
The next second, the fireball slammed squarely into the steel plate.
The enormous impact drove Mother's Milk backward, his feet plowing two meters across the floor. The steel plate turned red in an instant.
Its edges melted like a candle, droplets of glowing molten iron falling to the floor.
The heat surged through the plate. Mother's Milk's forearms suddenly jolted, dense blisters springing up in an instant.
The pain made him grunt, veins instantly bulging at his temples.
Just then, Kimiko, who had been lying in wait to one side, moved.
Under cover of the smoke and dust, Kimiko became a blur, charging out along the wall.
She was fast and light on her feet, circling to Lamplighter's side in the blink of an eye.
The steel pipe in her hand whistled through the air as she smashed it toward the wrist of his right hand, which held the fireball.
But Lamplighter had once been a member of the Seven, after all, not some utility-role fraud like Firecracker.
He didn't even turn his head, merely flicking his left hand sideways.
A tongue of flame suddenly shot from his palm, forming a long, scarlet whip that lashed toward Kimiko.
Kimiko's pupils contracted. She twisted at the waist to dodge, but the flame swept across her left arm. The bandages on her hand caught fire the instant they touched it.
Enduring the intense burning, she used her momentum to roll to the wall, then slapped out the flames on her sleeve, her brow knitting tightly.
This man reacted fast. She would struggle to get close to him. He would be difficult to deal with.
The burns on her left arm were healing visibly, the blisters subsiding.
Her skin slowly returned to its original color, leaving only faint red marks.
"A regenerator?"
Nearby, Lamplighter raised an eyebrow, finally showing a little interest.
"Interesting... Mallory really does have all kinds working for her."
As he spoke, he raised both hands.
Two fireballs suddenly rose from his palms, clearly larger and brighter than before.
The temperature throughout the corridor kept soaring until it reached a terrifying level.
Even the air grew scalding. A single breath made their windpipes hurt, as though they had entered a sauna, struggling to breathe.
"Hey, Frenchie! Snap out of it!"
Mother's Milk turned his head and roared.
Even now, Frenchie remained rooted in place, his eyes vacant, his whole body motionless.
"If you fucking want to die, pick a better time! Don't drag us down with you!"
Only when Mother's Milk's roar rang in Frenchie's ears did he slowly come to his senses.
"Fuck..."
He abruptly snapped out of it and saw Kimiko standing in front of him, her back to him.
Her sleeve was burned through, and red marks still lingered on her exposed arm.
Mother's Milk held up the now-warped fire-resistant steel plate, struggling to shield him.
"Fuck, I'm going to kill him..."
Frenchie braced against the wall and stood up, wiped his face, then bent down to retrieve the bomb-disposal pliers from the floor and pulled two liquid-nitrogen fire extinguishers from his backpack.
He had swiped all of these from the laboratory entrance, precisely because he was worried about a fire...
He hadn't expected them to actually come in handy.
"Mother's Milk! Draw him to the left!"
Frenchie shouted hoarsely.
"Kimiko, get behind him! Don't touch his fire! Just hit his joints!"
Mother's Milk understood. Gritting his teeth, he braced behind the glowing-red steel plate and moved two steps left.
"Lamplighter! Is that all you've got? What kind of member of the Seven hides behind fire? A turtle hiding in its shell?"
"A hero?"
Lamplighter scoffed and casually tossed a fireball over.
"That's already in the past."
The fireball slammed into the steel plate with another deafening boom.
Mother's Milk gritted his teeth and held firm, his knees buckling. The steel plate in his hands was almost melted into a lump of iron.
And as the temperature rose, his hands grew hotter and hotter.
He couldn't hold out much longer.
Just then, Kimiko seized her chance to move.
Smoke and dust filled the corridor, and the dazzling firelight provided just the cover she needed.
She began sneaking around, circling, waiting for a chance to find a blind spot and strike a fatal blow.
But as a fire controller, Lamplighter was exceptionally sensitive to changes in airflow. Kimiko's movements had nowhere to hide.
Still, having a moving target constantly interfering was irritating enough.
So, without even turning his head, Lamplighter flicked his right hand backward.
The next second, a wall of fire erupted from the floor, blocking Kimiko's path.
The crimson flames rose over two meters high, burning straight up to the ceiling and cutting the corridor in two.
Kimiko's expression tightened at the sight. She had no choice but to stop and take a step back.
"Trying to flank me?"
Lamplighter sneered, his voice carrying through the wall of fire.
"You're still too green, little girl."
Just then, Frenchie finally rushed out.
He came in from the side, swung up the liquid nitrogen extinguisher in his hands, aimed it at Lamplighter's face, and pressed the valve down hard.
"Hiss-!"
White liquid nitrogen mist gushed out, carrying compressed cold as it shot straight toward the dancing flames.
The next second, heat and cold collided with a loud sizzling crackle. A great cloud of white mist burst outward, instantly filling the entire corridor.
"Fuck!"
Lamplighter cursed and instinctively raised a hand to shield his face. Without a sustained supply of firepower, the flames at his fingertips immediately weakened.
Good, now!
Kimiko kicked hard off the wall, using the momentum to clear the wall of fire. She hurled herself through the air, driving her knee hard into Lamplighter's lower back.
A muffled thud rang out.
Lamplighter staggered forward a step and grunted.
No one who made it into The Seven was a pushover.
On top of that, Lamplighter's physical abilities were exceptionally strong. Once he reacted, he wrapped his fist in searing flames, turned, and threw a punch.
"Thump!"
Kimiko raised her arms to block, and the blow sent her flying backward.
But her flight also bought Frenchie enough time.
In those few short seconds, Frenchie sprayed three canisters of liquid nitrogen in succession.
He knew the stuff couldn't hurt Lamplighter, only freeze him a little at most, but it could suppress his flames and buy them a slim chance of survival.
"Mother's Milk! Fall back!"
Frenchie shouted as he scrambled backward.
Mother's Milk charged over behind the steel plate, grabbed Frenchie by the back of his collar, and dragged him back.
Kimiko also climbed off the floor, blood staining the corner of her mouth, and ran after them.
The white mist gradually dispersed.
Lamplighter stood where he was. The white frost on the back of his hand was slowly fading, and the frostbitten areas quickly healed as well.
Now his expression turned utterly dark, and icy killing intent blazed in his eyes.
"I was going to make it quick for you."
Through gritted teeth, he spoke each word distinctly.
"Looks like you don't appreciate the gesture."
"Then die."
He stamped his foot hard against the floor.
A vast mass of flames soon spread out from beneath his feet, surging like a tide across the floor in every direction.
Orange-red tongues of fire licked the floor, walls, and ceiling. Wherever they passed, even the concrete began to crack and melt, giving off sizzling wisps of white smoke.
In an instant, the entire corridor became a sea of fire.
There was nowhere to hide.
"Fuck..."
Mother's Milk's expression changed.
The fireproof steel plate in his hands was already ruined. It couldn't possibly block this kind of scorching heat from every direction.
If this went on, all three of them would be roasted to charcoal in less than a minute.