The Last Elementalist

45 years after WW1...

Three men in black and gold strode through the halls of the Pit. Each time their feet hit the ground meant that they were one step closer to Boston's Midnight Massacre. As they entered the Pit, the ranks all stood up straighter, black and gold jackets shining in the dim lighting.

"On your mark, General," Lieutenant Elias Wenning crowed, looking over the rows upon rows of soldiers they had spent months putting together.

"Torches, Captain," General Lachlan Callahan ordered.

Captain Mitchel Crow scrambled over to light three torches for the General, Lieutenant and himself. As he did, he remembered his mother whom he was forced to murder all those months ago. She would never know he was the one in the mask that night so long ago. She would never know why he did it.

He carried back the torches to the front of the ranks. Pulling a mask over his head he said, "Ready, General."

Everyone mimicked him, pulling their masks over their heads. "File out," the General cried, marching toward the ramp that would lead up to some ruins in Boston. And just like that, the ranks of Callahan Agencies marched into the streets of the city.

The clock struck twelve and the men ran through the streets, knocking down doors at random. After all, they had targeted Boston because it had been discovered to have the most of those bloodlines in the United States, the most of his bloodline. He ran straight into the center of the city and knocked down the first door.

He scrambled up the stairs and heard a young child cry. Running in the direction of the sound he ran through a door that had already been thrown open. A man in black and gold stood over three children. "This is for your own good," the Captain muttered as he pulled the trigger, blasting a hole in the back of the man's head.

Blood oozed out of the wound as the Captain pulled off his mask. "Where are your parents," he asked, super serious.

The girl shook her head, unable to talk. He motioned for them to come with him and they snuck out of the building through piles of rubble and puddles of blood. People flooded the streets; all running astray or being pursued by soldiers. The girls motioned to many people as they ran who scrambled up to them and joined their party.

He ushered them into an abandoned building in the back side of the ruins, far from the ramp. "Stay here," he breathed as they ran to the darkest corner of the basement. "I'll be back when this is over."

Two-hundred-and-sixteen people were saved that night by the brave man called Mitchel Crow. Two-hundred-and-sixteen people, many of similar bloodlines, all in the same danger.

Upon his return late that night, he was applauded. He lay next to the oldest girl of the girls he had saved from the soldier in their home.

"Thank you," she mumbled. "Thank you from the bottom of all our hearts. We owe you our lives."

"You owe me nothing," Crow smiled as the two of them became a tangle of bodies, kissing, and nothing else in the world mattered right then, except the two of them never letting go, never letting their blood go to waste.

They were safe. That is what mattered. But little did they know, their fight for life was long from over.