Chapter 28: Wentworth
Moriarty Wentworth knew the name of things. And he used them ruthlessly. He knew of how things worked and the true nature of their beings.
His name wasn't a joke; he earned it, fighting tooth and nail to survive.
He formed his first sigil when he crossed a threshold that he couldn't before. It started when he was a boy.
Moriarty had always been a precocious child, obsessed with learning how things worked and how to bridge the gap between fact and fiction. He didn't believe in things like luck, fate, or destiny.
They were all bogus concepts to him. He attended an academy of the gifted, but it didn't mean much. He was bored of their antics and how they strutted about like they owned the place. He was an aristocrat from Bellamy, a state in Velor. Unlike Selene, Bellamy was a place where only the strong survived. Of the ten states that made up Velor, three of them were a law unto themselves, and Selene stood at the precipice.
Bellamy ranked second, but it was one of the least liked. In terms of landmass, Selene blew the others out of the water. It encompassed around 250,000 square kilometers. Whereas the other nine added up to 350,000 square kilometers.
Selene acted as a sovereign figure in Velor, and the upper ranks didn't take kindly to it. The Order had been in operation for longer than most people could remember, and they had a unilateral power. One is all.
Bellamy wasn't enough for little Moriarty; he had them beat in everything that mattered. In sports, he was the number one. Popularity, charisma, talent, etc… nobody came close. His life was becoming bleaker, and he didn't know how to handle that.
"Why not rebel?" His bosom friend and classmate asked one day, his eyes full of mischief. He was called Luka, and he was an absolute menace.
"Rebel against what?" Moriarty asked, confused. He didn't have much to look forward to; his life was set in stone as the son of the Wentworths; his family was part of the cabinet ministers since Bellamy ran on a sovereign system. They used the concept of kingdoms instead of election shenanigans.
Moriarty was one of those next in line to the throne. Give or take about seven people.
"Rebel against the system. I can see how tired you are of everything and how much destruction you can create if you fly free. You're the best at everything; why should you be under someone else's thumb?" Luka was mischievous in ways Moriarty couldn't be, as the son of a renowned family.
Luka didn't care about things like that. He was a cheeky kid with wild hair and a penchant for trouble.
"Work with me then," Moriarty threw the gauntlet, trying to see if Luka would take up the challenge. It was brazen, but he didn't become friends with Luka just because.
Luka was sometimes insane. It kept him on his toes.
"What are you two doing?" A smallish girl stood before the two friends, glaring daggers at them.
"Planning to overthrow the government," Luka said without missing a beat, and she looked at them once, twice, and laughed.
"Keep messing around like that, and one day I might believe you," she replied to Luka and sent cringe, kissy gestures Moriarty's way.
"See? Even the class gossip doesn't believe you have it in you. What's the perfect crime? The one you can always get away with." Luka seemed to be having fun, and Moriarty was intrigued.
Can I be this free one day?
"I'm in. Although, what would be the debut?"
Right then, Moriarty was in the throes of youth and never believed what could come of a childish fascination.
~~
"Luka, is this right?" He stared at the building crashing before his eyes, a feeling of horror latching onto his heart.
"Is anything right?" Luka answered, and this time, there was no sign that he was kidding.
At first, they started with little things. The fire sigil, as Moriarty came to call it, began with a spark that changed everything. He felt it after that first conversation with Luka concerning the state of Bellamy. There was a nudge in his chest, and he felt an overwhelming urge to remove his clothes. He did, even though his body was still burning up.
The fever wasn't going down; he wasn't sure it counted as a fever because the family doctor examined him and said in a grave voice, "he's manifesting a sigil, a pretty dangerous one. He might be a flicker or the inferno that consumes the world."
On that ominous note, the doctor declared him well and went his merry way. But the Wentworths weren't so distracted.
"When last was there a fire sigil in this family?" Moriarty's father asked, stroking his impeccably white beard. He had the complete look of aristocracy, and his posture was rigid and powerful.
So many times, Moriarty wished to be like his father. But now…
"Don't put your ideas into his head; he'd decide what he wants to be by himself," his mother held him close, trying to protect him from the powerful gaze of his father.
But for how long?
"You know better than to question me. Yet, you do. In front of the boy, no less." Moriarty felt a twinge of pain, which he disregarded. He'd never been more than a means to an end, and he knew it. He accepted it as facts, too.
Because there'd be hell to pay if he didn't.
"I'm sorry," his mother had her head downcast, not daring to look up at his father. Moriarty had always wondered about the power dynamics and why his mother could be so brazen one second and meek the next. Her actions confused him further.
"You are a Wentworth. Our enemies must not catch wind of this, lest they try to turn you against your real family."
The powerfully built back was all Moriarty could stare at, his father never talked to him face to face, he never saw a reason to. And Moriarty had been the best at practically everything. But, there was no acknowledgment. In his father's words, "That much is expected from a Wentworth."
And so, the first spark of the rebellion festered in his heart, and Moriarty knew that his father would never see him as more than a tool.
And Moriarty just wanted his father to call him by name.
After that, he started sneaking out in the night, setting fire to things. The flames spoke to him, they told him of a world he could rule. They told him he could change everything.
He believed them.
At first, he went alone. Setting fires to little things like pig pens, a patch of grass, etc. Bellamy still lived in an era of aristocracy, where merchants ruled the land.
So, he set fires to barns, destroying crops worth thousands of gold. He did it to show his dominance, and he grew.
The flames licking underneath his skin were alive, they listened to his call and did his bidding.
His name became Crimson Flame, and his hair steadily changed colors to match that. From blonde to hair of startling red. Five years after he got his sigil, he was summoned by his father.
"How old are you now?" his father asked, backing him once more. But Moriarty didn't need to see his face anymore.
"21," Moriarty replied, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.
"An acquaintance of mine has a position for you. But first, you have to swear allegiance to the Wentworths. I know about your nightly forays. You have gotten stronger, but that's not where I want you to be. Destroy our enemies at the forefront, don't hide in the back like a coward."
Moriarty was fed up with his father's self-righteousness, and for the first time, he snapped.
"What right do you have to tell me what to do? In twenty-one years, you've never cared to look me in the face. I mean nothing to you, why should you mean anything to me? Yet you dare speak of cowardice when you're the most cowardly of all. Your first and only child, you can't bring yourself to acknowledge his existence. I am a Wentworth, but I'm not yours."
As Moriarty spoke, the flames appeared, lazily licking his skin, highlighting him in an aura of fire. But he wasn't burning, even his clothes weren't singed.
"I reject your influence on me. I used to look up to you. I used to want you to see me. And now? Now I see that you've always run away, never taken the time to see people for who they really are. You're a pathetic being, and I won't work for you, or your friend. I'll forge my path."
He stormed out of the office, his eyes blazing red. A few staff saw him and they went scurrying into their different holes. He didn't care. He had a mission, and nothing was going to deter him.
"A monster, I've raised a monster," his father repeated, eyes glazed with fear. But Moriarty wasn't there to see, neither would he have cared if he was.
~~
"Come with me, Luka. I have a better stage for your bizarre entertainment."
That was the first time Moriarty recruited anyone.
"Finally, you asked. I've been waiting."
That was also the first time he realized that he had what it took to be a leader.
~~
Commander Moriarty, Crimson Flame Demon. They called him many names, and some stuck whether he wanted them to or not.
Luka Eisenhower, Deranged Beast. That's what he was known as, the vice commander of a special force that answered only to Moriarty. True to his word, Luka showed Moriarty a wider world, and Moriarty in turn showed Luka a more magnificent stage.
They were both ready for the wave of madness they were about to unleash on the world.
"I hope you'll forgive me, Raven."
Moriarty's doubts were cast aside the moment he threw away the handkerchief she gave him, one he'd never let go of in years.
It wasn't the time for romance anymore.
The Wentworths needed him. Bellamy needed him.
And Selene was going to feel the force of a thousand furious suns.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone