And just like that, Shion was gone. Iggy slumped to the ground, bruised and bleeding and helpless. He had never seen Shion so seething, and now, he had to live with knowing he had done this. All of the pain in Shion's life had been caused by Iggy himself. What kind of friend was he? He clenched his fists tightly. What was he to do now?
Iggy had always been different from the rest of his clan. He knew it as soon as he knew how to talk; something about him was off. His flame wasn't orange or red like the others', or even blue like a select few. He had the white flame, the first most of his tribe had ever seen. But even beyond that, he didn't understand the adrenaline that came with homicide. The fire mages seemed fueled by their bloodlust, but Iggy was more interested in physical activity, in sports and games. When he'd finally had enough of their ways, he was on his own, entirely racked with guilt. He'd killed so many people, and he vowed to never use the power of his flames again.
Once Shion had joined Gelid Seraph, Iggy was reacquainted with his guilt. Every single day he had to look into the face of a boy he had ruined. He had the same facial structure as so many who Iggy had murdered, the same hair, the same build. Every day Iggy was reminded of what he had done. He didn't know how he had made it to eighteen without killing himself to escape the guilt.
But Iggy knew he wasn't making it to nineteen. As he sat there in a pathetic heap of sweat, blood, and dirt, he could only think about his best friend, his brother, hurling insults at him, screaming at him, attacking him. He could only think of the years he had betrayed himself, betrayed Shion, leading him on. He was a terrible human being, one without the right to even draw breath. So, Iggy did what he felt like he had to do. If Shion wouldn't end the fire mages, he would.
Shion's family had perished in a blurry wave of fire. Iggy, then, deserved no less. He promised himself this was the very last time he would use his flame, and Iggy summoned a ring of them, white-hot blazes surrounding him on all sides. The walls closed in on him, charring his skin. He couldn't even think to scream. His flame was hot enough to burn even him, despite his resistance. Iggy could hardly fight anymore as he felt the flames in his stomach, in his lungs, in his veins. He was suffocating, choking on his own disease, but he could not stop now. His skin fizzled, flesh skipping grilled texture and going straight to ash on his muscles. With burns all over every part of his body, Iggy's fires finally stopped all at once, and he fell to a wheezing heap on the ground.