What people remember the most about that day wasn't necessarily when news of the Commander first broke, it was what followed after. It was the panic, the uncertainty, the fear that resonated the most. I felt that panic in the very air I breathed. Even though my family and I were huddled upstairs, and the downstairs windows and doors were fastened shut, I still felt afraid. And I was far from the only one. Every news channel featured the same footage - that towering column of smog - and the same solemn monologues by media personalities. Their languages may have been different, but they all had the same tone of voice and the same shell-shocked expressions. They too were afraid.
Gently pulling the curtains aside in my bedroom, I peered down into the streets. They were empty and eerily quiet. Everyone had gone home and bunkered down. Like my father, they were also anticipating...something. We didn't know exactly what, but we all knew it wasn't going to be good.
Uncertainty breeds chaos. A sudden change from our routine - a blackout, an economic crash, or a hurricane - brings out the worst in people. But these things had happened before and would happen again. Never had we experienced the death of one of our prime guardians before. It was like the entire city was holding its breath...waiting silently. Just then, I heard something, a distant rumbling sound outside, like rolls of thunder.
Word of Commander's death had reached other nations as well. Out of the corner of my eye I could see on the small TV that my family was huddled around images of citizens in some faraway nation dancing in the street. They were celebrating the death of our hero. My stomach ached at the mere sight of it. Clarissa was quietly sobbing.
"For goodness' sake!" my father said to her, "Change the channel." She did and the next station was airing footage of Russian, Chinese and North Korean armies being mobilized in response to the death of their Allegiant. Endless rows of soldiers, tanks and armored vehicles marched past our view as their leaders shouted into microphones and pounded on podiums. "Change the channel again," he said.
"It's the same on all the channels," Clarissa replied.
"Well, try the local news or something, please!"
Clarissa begrudgingly obeyed, but it didn't do much good. The local Miami news was still playing footage of the explosion from the Aleutian Islands. My mother was holding onto my father's arm tightly as she watched the news. Clarissa, in turn, was holding onto my mother's arm tightly. Catherine and Caroline were playing behind them oblivious to anything going on. Meanwhile, I continued to gaze out across the darkened city from the window. That strange thunder sound was heard again, but it seemed to be getting closer.
"Come away from the window, dear," my mother said, "Don't let anyone see you."
I released the curtain and sat next to them on the bed. We were watching the news in the room that Clarissa and I shared. There wasn't much space left on the twin-sized mattress, but I was thin, so I perched myself on the edge of the corner. The local broadcast was still airing the same footage, but then the anchorwoman looked frantic as she pressed her earpiece to her head. The broadcast then changed. The footage being shown was no longer of the Aleutian Islands, but of city streets...familiar streets...streets I had walked my entire life...and they were on fire.
Renegades were running amuck. They were swarming like insects, flipping over cars and setting them ablaze. One of them conjured a ball of fire in his palm before lobbing it through a second story window of a nearby building. Several other goons were carting away flat screen TVs and electronics from the charred remains of stores. They were wearing red clothing emblazoned with a smirking black devil symbol. I recognized them. They were the Imps - a renegade group of fire-summoning Ultras. My father had warned me and my sisters about them during several dinnertime chats.
The Imps were a band of thugs that trafficked in contraband that arrived at Miami Port. I had seen their black devil logo graffitied across many brick walls while I ran errands. My father told me that their emblem marked their territory. If I saw the devil, I needed to turn around and walk back right away. One time, I had wandered too far and encountered a few of them hanging out on a street corner. Their spikey hair and red sunglasses were easy to spot, so I ran back as quick as I could before they saw me. They usually loitered around the docks or the industrial sector. But now they were wreaking havoc elsewhere. It was then that I noticed a strange hellish glow coming from the window.
Words failed to form on my lips to warn my dad, so I feebly tugged on his sleeve. He turned and noticed the light outside and immediately rushed to the window. His face became pale, and his eyes were glistening from an unseen fire outside.
"What is it, Carlos?" my mother asked.
He gave no reply. Instead, he marched to the doorway, drawing his pistol from the back of his pants to inspect it. He then stopped himself.
"Cassie, call the police. Right now! Tell them there are Imps attacking our neighborhood. I'm going downstairs to keep anyone from breaking in. Carmen, if you have to, move everyone to a safe room and barricade the door!"
Surprisingly, I didn't hesitate like earlier. My phone was out and dialing 911 as soon as he told me to call. My mother, on the other hand, was flustered and glancing back and forth between us and her husband. Before she could protest, he was out of sight and downstairs. Clarissa scooped up Caroline and Catherine into her arms while I pressed my phone to my cheek. It was my first time dialing 911 and I was rehearsing what I would say in my head as it rang.
However, it never stopped ringing. I waited and waited and never heard a voice on the other end. I couldn't believe it. I hung up and tried calling again. Same thing. No emergency dispatch operator; just a ceaseless, interminable ringing. As I listened in vain, I peeked through the curtains of the window. A few dozen red-clad anarchists were moving through the streets, waving bats and iron pipes as they chanted, "Commander is dead! Commander is dead!" A parked car had been set on fire as well as a few trash cans and alleyway dumpsters. Those fiends pranced proudly down the road, completely unopposed.
"This city is our turf now!" one of the Imps howled.
"Ain't no other gangs gonna disrespect us!" said another one.
Then, their leader emerged from the ranks. He was tall, with a shaved head, red shades and wearing an oily duster made from alligator skin. His neck and wrists were adorned in gold chains and diamonds. The villain's entire image boasted opulence and vanity. After climbing atop a nearby car, he held his arms out and spoke with a booming voice that could be heard down the block.
"I am Malacoda, King of the Imps! No one will disrespect us anymore! NO ONE!" The man was suddenly engulfed in a pillar of light from the news helicopter as if he were on stage giving a speech. Surely, dozens of unseen eyes were peeking at him from behind locked doors and barricaded windows as he spoke. My family and I could hear him from both the window and the TV broadcast at the same time.
"WE own this city!" he roared, "Not the gangs, not the cops-" he paused as he looked upwards at the helicopter filming him. His snarling face filled the TV screen, causing my sisters to gasp in fright. "And especially not the Allegiant!" he finished as he drew back his hand. He released his arm and flung a fireball, nearly striking the helicopter, causing it to swerve out of the way.
"Commander is dead!" he shouted. His goons erupted into a fit of maniacal laughter, like demons cackling in delight. They all gathered around him as if he were their god.
"You're the big boss now, Coda!" said one Imp.
"These people need to fear the name of Malacoda, King of the Imps!" said another.
Malacoda conjured another fireball in his hand. He batted it back and forth between his palms as he glanced about, slowly deciding where he was going to throw it. My heart stopped beating as I watched. Then, he settled his gaze on my family's bakery. For a moment, he steadied himself as he tossed the flaming orb up and down with a toothy grin on his face, savoring the anticipation. I motioned for my mother and sisters to get back. The fire could be coming right through our window at any second. But then, he quickly turned and flung the fireball at the store directly across the street from us. It broke through the second story apartment window and exploded. The Imps cheered. Their blackened silhouettes against the blaze danced about with glee.
It didn't take long for the fire to spread throughout the entire building. Tongues of flame were flickering out of every window. Suddenly, the front door burst open. Fire belched out in a flash. A flaming figure emerged from the entrance. It was shrieking. Some poor soul had become drenched in fire as he or she tried to extinguish themself. The person tried rolling about on the ground, but it was no use. The Imps circled the person and laughed. Wicked devils!
Another figure dashed out into the street, running straight through the crowd of Imps with his long-sleeve shirt in his hands. He paid no attention to the fiends around him and threw his shirt over the poor soul to put out the flames. It was strange. The man seemed to have run straight from our front door. Then the sickening truth dawned on me.
"DAD?!" I yelled, causing my mom and sisters to cry out in fright. They all rushed over to the window to get a better look. My mother began crying uncontrollably.
"Carlos! NO!" she sobbed, “What are you doing?!”
"Daddy!" cried out Caroline and Catherine.
We watched as my father patted down the burning body of the victim, not realizing that the Imps were slowly encircling him from all sides. Once the flames were extinguished, he took notice and immediately drew out his gun. He waved it around in all directions with a shaking hand. All the while, he remained crouched over the victim, shielding him or her with his body.
"Back! Get back!" he shouted, but it was no use. The gun was trembling in his grip. Streams of tears were glistening off of his face. He was afraid.
BAM! An imp struck him from behind, knocking the gun from his hand. Before he had time to react, another Imp lunged in and kicked my father in the chest. He hit the concrete with a thud. All that I remember next were blurry images of my hallway and stairwell as I found myself racing as fast as I could to his aid. The voices of my mother and sisters calling after me were drowned out by the deafening sound of blood rushing in my veins.
What was I doing? What was my plan? What could I possibly do to stop those brutes from murdering my dad? It didn't matter. I couldn't stop myself even if I wanted to. Before I realized it, I was throwing open the front door and venturing out into the hot streets. A surge of heat from the burning buildings hit my face as I ran. Several Imps set their hungry eyes upon me as I bolted towards my dad, screaming and crying out for him.
Pain washed over me. I found myself sideways on the ground. An Imp must've smacked me before I could reach my dad. There was laughter above me, which quickly multiplied. A choir of devilish voices was gathering. As the pain subsided, I peeled open my eyes. The image of my father was blotted out by several legs and feet surrounding me. I squeezed my eyes shut again and coiled up, anticipating the end.
"Wait!" came a booming voice. I opened one of my eyes to see who it was. It was Malacoda, still standing tall over the crowd. The mob fell silent as he descended his perch atop the car and waltzed through the group. The Imps parted in his wake. I felt hands grab hold of my arms and hoist me up. Three or more thugs did the same to my dad. As this was transpiring, the news helicopter was still circling overhead, surveying the scene. Its searchlight nearly blinded me as Malacoda approached.
"Looks like we got some wannabe heroes!" he said with a wicked grin. He then lowered himself and waved his finger in my face, "What? You think you're Commander now all of a sudden? He's dead! What can you do?" I flinched and shuttered. Malacoda then turned his attention towards my dad.
"And what were you trying to do, old man?" he said, "You trying to put out my fire? I'm Malacoda! If I want something to burn, it's gonna burn! You hear me?!" My dad turned his head slightly, but continued to glare at the Imp. Malacoda lifted himself, chest bellowing with anger. He then ripped off his duster and began flexing his arms. Smoke began to emanate from his shoulders and neck as he groaned. Within a few seconds, spurts of fire were dancing off of his skin. The villain's guttural breathing steadied as he scanned the environment.
"Now...what should I burn next?" My eyes widened with terror. Was he doing this to punish my father...to punish me? Was he going to make us watch?
"Let's see. How about...this place?!" He stretched out his arms. A sphere of fire was formed between them. He held it in place for a moment, allowing it to increase in size before launching it at another building. It struck the brick wall like napalm. Molten liquid splattered onto the streets. My father tried wrestling himself out of the Imps' grip but could not escape.
"Maybe...this place next?!" Malacoda summoned another flaming sphere and fired it at an adjacent building. It became soaked in brimstone.
"Stop it!" yelled my father, "Leave them alone! They haven't done anything to you!"
"No, but you have!" said Malacoda, "You opened your eyes at me. I'm just teaching you a lesson." Malacoda then glanced past me, looking up at the second story window of my family's bakery, our home. "And I want you two to remember this lesson for a long long time."
"NO!" howled my father, "Kill me, but spare them! Please!" My dad was immediately struck across the chin by a gloved hand, silencing him as bloody drool oozed from his lips. I watched with unblinking eyes as Malacoda formed a small orb in his hand. I tried desperately to say something...anything. Even a growl would suffice. Yet, nothing came. Malacoda took his fiery orb and playfully hurled it at the upstairs window. It burst against the brick just beside it. Embers rained down on my head as I listened to my mother and sisters cry out in terror. Still, no words formed on my lips.
The Imp summoned another fireball. He half-heartedly tossed it to the other side of the window. My shoulders and neck were burned by the falling hot ash. I gasped for air and fought as hard as I could to say something. Suddenly, I felt faint again. My vision was blurring. Not again. Not now. Malacoda and his horde were like twisted abominations, giggling and jeering in low pitch voices. My head drooped low and I felt myself go limp in the grip of the two goons holding me in place.
"No more messing around," said Malacoda, "Time to make my final point to you...hero". He then began to conjure another massive fireball between his hands. In my delirious state, random thoughts raced through my mind. I saw myself as a little girl, dressed in a frilly red, white, and blue outfit. My father was there too, he scooped me up into his arms and spun me around on the green lawn, still damp from the sprinkler. On the grass, droplets of water were glistening in the light of the setting sun.
Suddenly, it was night. A sparkler was in my hand as I tried to spell my name in the sky with its streaking trail. Then, I was gazing up at red, white, and blue explosions overhead. They were fireworks. Their booms rocked the countryside, filling me with awe. My mother and father were sitting on a patchwork picnic blanket with me sandwiched between them. I felt so safe with them next to me. This was one of my first memories ever: my first Fourth of July celebration.
Tears were burning my eyes. It was such a sweet memory. I had not thought about it for some years now; too busy with school and work. My father had said earlier that I was too old for Fourth of July firework shows, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. Seeing those fireworks brought me closer to my family and reminded me of just how blessed we were to be living in a free country where we could enjoy simple moments like that.
...And now an Imp was about to take all of that away from me.
My fists tightened as I lifted my head. My eyes were blazing brighter than any fire around me. At last, air filled my lungs and I could finally speak, albeit in a raspy voice.
"This...is...." I wheezed. Malacoda looked at me inquisitively. He was still conjuring his fireball. The other Imps fell silent too as I continued. "This...is....my..." My father regained consciousness and looked up. Bewilderment filled his face. The swarm of Imps looked puzzled too as they stared at me. I noticed that the air in the street was beginning to cool. The lights dimmed as the fires across the street were slowly extinguished. Even the flames in Malacoda's hands were diminishing. They vanished in a puff of smoke. Malacoda clenched his teeth. For the first time, I saw a flash of fear behind his red-colored glasses.
My body was radiating with energy. Every fiber of muscle in my arms felt like a strand of steel. Each heartbeat in my chest was like a piston in a machine. A single breath of air was like a surging wave rejuvenating my blood. Without much effort, I flicked the two Imps off of me and slowly stood upright. Malacoda seemed so small as he cowered away. Little did I realize it at the time, but my skin was emanating a blinding aura. I balled my fist, looked the villain straight in the eye and shouted in a clear voice,
"THIS IS MY HOME!" In a single punch, I felt all of that accumulated energy exit my body. It sent Malacoda flying through the air and careening against a brick wall. His cracking bones could be heard across the street. The shock wave from the strike also caused the nearby Imps to hit the ground. Some toppled over fallen trash cans or were blown against metal streetlights, knocking themselves out. Those that weren't incapacitated immediately scurried away like cockroaches exposed to light.
As soon as my punch made contact with Malacoda's chin, I immediately collapsed. Coiled up in the fetal position, I was blanketed by a warm pillar of light shining down from the news helicopter which captured the entire scene on film. After that, I lost consciousness. The next thing I remember was being aroused from my stupor.
"Cass! Cassie!" My father was cradling me in his arms. Groggy, I slowly opened my eyes. A sudden rush of air filled my lungs and I started to shake uncontrollably. My dad cooed at me and put his hand on my brow.
“It’s alright! It’s alright, sweetie.” he said, “You’re okay. You’re safe” Tears began pouring down my face. I was weeping like a small child aroused by a nightmare. My father held my shaking hand as I glanced about. Several Imps still lay motionless on the ground, including the mangled shape of Malacoda across the street. I then turned my gaze to the second story window of our bakery. I pointed haphazardly while trying to form words, but nothing escaped my throat but a dry cough. Fortunately, my dad knew what I meant.
“They’re okay. Everything’s fine.” he said. Then, his face stiffened as he looked down at me again, “Honey…I don’t know how, but-” then he stopped himself. The pillar of light from the helicopter was directly over us again. I could feel its warmth against my skin. My dad shielded his eyes with his hand as he looked up at it before returning his attention to me.
“...but we need to get you out of here.”
At this point, I was beginning to grow faint again. The last thing I recall was being hoisted off the cold concrete as the whirling sound of helicopter blades hummed overhead. Its noise became muffled before being silenced in total blackness.
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