Burntrap: Ashes of Hell
The ruins of the Mega Pizzaplex were still burning when the firefighters arrived. Smoke rose like a black cloud over the city, and among the molten rubble, creaking sounds could be heard… and something else: a metallic, rhythmic noise, almost like footsteps.
Beneath tons of steel and ash, he awoke. The fire hadn't destroyed him, it had only purified him. The melted wires were now his veins, and his charred carcass, a new skin. Where once there had been a man trapped in a machine, only one will remained: to survive.
His mind was a whirlwind of broken memories: children's laughter, screams, the echo of a pizzeria filled with lights. But the fire changed him. It turned him into something else. Something that couldn't even die.
Burntrap stood up, his joints creaking like broken bones. Around him, the fire danced as if it worshipped him. His eyes, two beacons of blue energy, ignited with an unnatural glow. Each step left a glowing mark on the ground.
"They thought… they could forget me…" his voice was a distorted echo, half metallic, half human.
He walked among the ruins of the past, observing the charred walls, the remains of costumes, the burned toys. Everything that had once been a children's spectacle was now a mausoleum.
But Burntrap didn't cry. The fire wasn't his end, but his rebirth.
And as the flames reflected in his empty gaze, he swore a new promise: "If the fire didn't destroy me… neither will the world." From that night on, reports began to multiply: Lights turning on by themselves in abandoned buildings. Metallic sounds in the shadows. And, in the fire's reflection… a melted smile that should never exist again.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Las ruinas del Mega Pizzaplex aĂşn ardĂan cuando los bomberos llegaron. El humo se elevaba como una nube negra sobre la ciudad, y entre los escombros fundidos se escuchaban crujidos… y algo más: un ruido metálico, rĂtmico, casi como pasos.
Bajo toneladas de acero y ceniza, Ă©l despertĂł.
El fuego no lo habĂa destruido, solo lo habĂa purificado.
Los cables derretidos eran ahora sus venas, y su carcasa carbonizada, una nueva piel. Donde antes hubo un hombre atrapado en una máquina, solo quedaba una voluntad: sobrevivir.
Su mente era un torbellino de recuerdos rotos: risas de niños, gritos, el eco de una pizzerĂa llena de luces.
Pero el fuego lo cambiĂł. Lo volviĂł algo más. Algo que ni siquiera podĂa morir.
Burntrap se levantĂł, sus articulaciones chirriando como huesos quebrados.
A su alrededor, el fuego danzaba como si lo adorara.
Sus ojos, dos focos de energĂa azul, se encendieron con un brillo antinatural. Cada paso dejaba una marca incandescente en el suelo.
—“Pensaron… que podĂan olvidarme…” —su voz era un eco distorsionado, mitad metálico, mitad humano.
Caminó entre las ruinas del pasado, observando las paredes carbonizadas, los restos de los trajes, los juguetes calcinados. Todo lo que alguna vez fue un espectáculo infantil, ahora era un mausoleo.
Pero Burntrap no llorĂł.
El fuego no era su fin, sino su renacimiento. Y mientras las llamas reflejaban en su mirada vacĂa, jurĂł una nueva promesa:
“Si el fuego no me destruyó… el mundo tampoco lo hará.”
Desde esa noche, los informes comenzaron a multiplicarse: Luces que se encendĂan solas en edificios abandonados. Ruidos metálicos entre las sombras. Y, en el reflejo del fuego… una sonrisa derretida que nunca deberĂa volver a existir.
