Abominable

Centuries ago our universe breeded it's first seed, a like specie with slight resemblance and characteristics. A diverse alternative timeline that coexists alongside the regular. So, the inhabitants of this alternate timeline first labeled everything as fiction (Fic.) before their actual name comes along. Because they were found to be living in a breathing fantasy.

On the other hand, one can say that there needs to be an intercourse before a breeding. To this it's fair to say that our universe was once banged, fucked raw by voodoo itself.

Centuries ago before the dawn of this incident, a great number of our ancestors gave themselves fully into witchery and raw voodoo, practicing spells bigger than their knowledge, and incantations higher than their mere mortal beings. They performed sick rituals in mass that even the universe couldn't take any of it anymore, so much sin and blood on such holy grounds. And so to survive as it is, our world begat itself an offspring.

Making for itself two diverse timelines with the same human beings; a photocopy of the original but forged of sin and blood. A timeline where everyone knows voodoo, or magic, whatever pleases your ears the most.

Here voodoo is seen as a birthright, and anyone that lacks this witchcraft is seen as a cursed being.

Somewhere in downtown Los Angeles of Fic. America, Robert, a handsome African-American in his forties, walks into a bar in a suit that fits his well built physique perfectly. His hands blazing in the richness of his watches as does his hair and well lined beards, testifying the thickness of his bank account. He bounces up to the counter like a man with zero problems and a lot of time to spare.

At a table near the counter sits a gang of six, made up of both African-Americans, white, and a Spanish man. One of them, Jackson, a thirty something years old black man with a bold physique watches Robert closely as he meets the counter. After a brief second of staring, Jackson stands up and walks towards him.

He bangs his cup on the surface of the counter in a bid to gain Robert's attention. "What bout all those fancy bars all your kind go to? They're on a strike or something?" Jackson questions Robert derisively.

"Tequila," Robert ignores him and places an order instead.

"I asked you a question rich boy," Jackson persists.

"Thank you," Robert grabs his drink and reaches to take a sip while totally ignoring Jackson's existence.

Swallowed by the rage of disrespect Jackson knocks the drink off Robert's hand with a blow.

"You don't ignore me!" Jackson walks into his space and stares him dead in the eye. "I ain't one of those broke dudes you control."

"And I'm not one of those rich people you'd enjoy harassing," Robert turns over and leans his back completely relaxed on the counter. "Tell me Something boy, is this a once in a while thing, or you're always this stupid?"

"Hey dawgs!" Jackson yells out to his men angrily. "Looks like someone here wants some free fist classes."

They all chuckle as they evaluate their seats and bounce towards Robert, cracking their fingers with a menacing smile on their face.

"Who do you think you are?" A Fic. Spanish man, Bravo, who's Jackson's right hand man asks Robert in a bully's tone.

"That's my line," Robert counters with a brief chuckle."Who do you think you are?" Be asks calmly and almost playfully.

In unison they all laugh loudly at Robert's idiotism.

"We're the drug lords of America bitch," Jackson declares boastfully out of the wild laughter.

"I thought we were supposed to keep that secret. Babe, they asked us to keep it secret," Jennifer, Jackson's girlfriend, a white lady around his age whispers to him.

"What's the need for power if you can't use it how you please?" Jackson announces denying grounds for secrecy. "We're grown ups now Jennifer, we don't need to listen to..." he bends to her ears, "...some wolves."

"You must be Jackson." Robert decides to himself in confidence. "Thanks for giving me almost all the information I need." He turns around and walks toward the exit.

"Hey, we ain't done with you yet," Bravo yells at Robert as the men go to surround him once again, pushing him backwards like a child in the act of disobedience.

One moment they're regular humans, the next minute all their palms breed flames like stoves, blue and red fire as the regular gasoline cookers emit. But there was no gasoline. This was a general gift, of all elements the humans have mastered the fire and have chosen to halt there.

Robert on the other hand, dusts his suits like he was wiping off dirt. He then looks up to them with a side grin, "You all wanna play?" They all close up on him in agreement and in the spirit of gang violence. "I'm not the type of player you wanna mess with, I own this game."

Suddenly the doors alongside some parts of the wall is smashed down in a loud bam! And a team of soldiers all in fine black coats jump into the bar with thick dark flames burning in the shape of katanas. They're all hooded, they're all masked in iron, they're the Black Justice, a department of elite/bloody soldiers who mostly protect a heightened set of rich people from the masses, mainly the Nabobs; a distinguished arm of government.

A cloud of confusion swiftly overwhelm the gang, their eyes widen as their minds struggle to comprehend the identity of their most recent opponent. They didn't know him so well after all, but always they know one thing, run!

Robert signals the soldiers not to pursue, and in the same breath they hold back watching the bar turn into something of a track event.

But even though Robert has allowed their safe escape, something about his expression smells off, not a tiny bit of it screams mercy. It seems more like he has a bigger plan for them.

In a minute a old man in white beards, Chief Gilbert, the chief of police, comes to stand by Robert.

"Give me a spy," Robert orders the chief.

"He's on his way, Lord Robert." Gilbert assures the nabob.

"In the meantime get a man to keep an eye on Jackson for me until the spy arrives. I'd be back to hear the tales," Robert commands as he walks out of the ruins of the bar.

"Yes, Lord Robert." the chief affirms.

...

"We have attained the witchery we do so much sacrificed for. But there was a problem, everyone had this powers too. Meaning we've failed, we have failed to acquire the uniqueness and dominion over our fellows. So how do we exercise the control we long began this project for?

We also encountered some weird creatures which we slaughtered to extinction. Then we knew we weren't in the same realm anymore. But no one else knew then.

Knowledge is power.

So we taught them how to use their abilities, and swiftly became law givers, with benefits of course. We made ourselves gods and even took tithes.

The only thing they're perfect at is manipulating the fire element. They think that's all witchcraft can offer. And over the years, everyone have thought us to be friends rather than oppressors. In fact they have forgotten everything, even the weird creatures."

Brown, Robert's son, a tall handsome African-American teenager around 19, reads out loud to his friend Jake, also an African-American but in his twenties. "What do you think?"

Jake jumps down the black jeep he was resting on, in his overly fashionable outfits that emits Balenciaga vibes, and walks a little further to the edge of the mountain they're on, "It sounds like one of those old scrolls you used to steal from your dad's library."

"What're you talking bout?" Brown jumps down his black Lamborghini in his hoodie. "It sure is one of those old scrolls I always steal from my dad's library."

"Oh wait," Brown punches Jake's shoulder lightly. "I told you that before I even started reading it."

"What do you want me to say? We all know your dad's a weird guy. He and his secret organization we're always talking bout since you was seven," Jake points out.

"It's called The Headquarters, dummy. The secret organization, " Brown takes a deep breath and looks down to the hills below the mountain. "This is talking bout the origin of our world you know. Like everyone's under a spell or something."

"You'd figure it out when you're older. I don't really think that means anything," Jake belittles the gravity of the issue.

Brown gets in Jake's face, staring at him in a disturbing matter.

"What're you doing?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. Maybe the only reason I think deeper bout this is because I'm the son of a nabob. They put y'all under a spell, " Brown explains, demonstrating concurrently in energy.

"I don't feel like I'm under a spell," Jake takes a step sidewards away from Brown with a wild expression like his friend has lost his marbles.

"Only way to find out is to actually visit The Headquarters," Brown keeps talking with little attention Jake. "But they won't let me in. My dad says they think I'm cursed cause I don't have powers."

"The one way a cursed can get in is when their parent is no more. That's what you told me the other day, stop looking for my sympathy," Jake annunciates.

"Gosh Jake, ya so evil," Brown yells and walks back to his Lambo. "No wonder the Saint Soldiers didn't think twice before taking you on."

In a minute Jake slowly walks back to his Jeep, feeling the heavy wind calmly with each step. He takes a sit on the jeep and surrenders his mind to the cool breeze, "Brown...why do you like this place so much?"

"Seriously? I've told you this a thousand times," Brown jumps off his car and spreads his arms apart. "I'm all over here." He hops around the field lightly in the spirit of demonstration. "I remember here was Amaya, and here Vanessa, Becky's was over here."

"If your dad's so rich then why do you prefer to have sex, outside?" Jake interrupts.

"The girls like it. You know how it feels when cool breeze collides with your ass when you're fucking? Brooo," Brown gets down on his knees in taste. "The view out here, the wind, and my meat." A moment of realization comes upon him. "Maybe that's why girls like me so much." He looks straight up with eyes full of spiritual discoveries.

Jake stares at him in side eyes and a curled smile. He's always known his friend was crazy. Suddenly his phone rings, "Oh gad," he picks it up. "Sir." A moment of silence passes with Brown staring at him in a pleading grimace.

"Yes sir, I'm on my way."

Brown's face breaks down as this words escape Jake's lips, "Oh no." He stands up in weakness and rests on his car.

"Sorry man, I gotta go, it sounds urgent," Jake explains.

"Duty calls uh? " Brown questions in an accommodating tone.

"Yeah," Jake responds following the tone of the moment.

"Screw duty!" Brown breaks the calmness of the moment completely with a scream.

Jake chuckles, "Dude. We were having a sensitive moment." He gets in his Jeep, "Goodbye." Jake drives off.

With Jake gone, a stink of aloneness finds Brown again. He stares around for a while then gently walks towards the door of his car.

As he grabs the door, he sights a group of three luxurious cars coming towards him in speed.

"Wooooooh!" The passengers scream continuously in party faces.

Brown sighs, "Not again." He turns around and rests on his car instead.

In a few minutes the cars come to stop by him. It's a bunch of rich kids Brown surely recognizes.

"Look guys, it's Brown. Robert's cursed kid," a tall native American dude, Carson announces as he leaves his car. "Wanna see some magic?" He yells out to Brown.

"Guys, can we just let him be?" One amongst the two girls, Anna, a mixed race, yells to the boys from her car.

Before the words could fully escape her lips her boyfriend, Austin leaves the car to do exactly what she just advised against.

She turns to Carson's girlfriend hoping to gain her support. But unfortunately, she sits perfectly relaxed in her car seeing no problem with the unfolding situation. Anna sighs in hopelessness and looks away to the boys again.

Tony, the owner of the third car comes out to rest on his car wearing the most fierce smile amongst them all. The other boys do it for the fun of bullying, but his face shows he's really got something against Brown.

"C'mon Brown, he asked you a question. Do you wanna see some magic?" Austin emphasizes.

"Yeah I get it, you can make fire, you can make fire, and you can make fire," He says pointing at them one by one. "Now get outta my fucking way."

Without second thoughts Carson swings his finger towards Brown, suddenly forming a lot of fowls made of golden flame; the fire trait of the nabobs. He makes the flaming fowls surround Brown and his car in a cycle, hoping around him in a disturbing way.

"Are you guys done?" Brown keeps his cool appearing to be calm on the outside. "Now let me pass."

The boys all burst out in laughter, laughing around the place in the next smattering minutes to follow.

At this point, Brown's long time habit of thinking that talking to them is a waste has been further approved. Now left with no better options, Brown tiptoes through the fowls, trying to find enough space for his car to pass without an explosion.

But too bad for Brown, the fowls regroup over and over again following Carson's command. Brown has no chances of escaping.

"You saw us coming from afar Brown," Austin walks up to him. "Why didn't you get in your car and run."

"Someone said you'd always be this stupid, I just wanted to see for myself. Y'know?" Brown tells without the slightest concern for potential consequences.

All their expressions shift to vexation at once except for Anna who gives off a slight smile instead, and Tony who chuckles threateningly. "Look at you. You're in our little puppet show now, Brown."

"We should probably make a picnic out here," Austin suggests with a loud chuckle.

"Right," Carson chuckles along.

"It'd be interesting," Tony cracks a wicked smile.

Just then Carson's girlfriend comes out the car to join the show, she looks quite like a busybody. However Anna remains in her car, even though her boyfriend signals her to come out.

Then suddenly metallic sparks start building on the surface of the ground underneath their flaming fowls. At first it's all comes off as normal until they look at each other and realize that they all have no parts in it. A sense of wonder finds them pronto.

"What's it doing?" Austin questions in confusion. "I'm calling the blackies." He puts a finger to the side of his head.

Slowly, the sparks form a dragon made of thick red fire; the fire trait of the Saint Soldiers, Fic. America's version of SWAT.

Swiftly the sense of wonder clears off as does the fear that came with it, the boys all stand gallantly on the field like they know what is to come. Tony on the other hand widens his palms and rolls them upon each other forming a golden fireball.

He bounces it unceasingly on the ground, smiling and waiting for the coming of this foe.

"Behind you," a voice alerts them.

They turn around to see Jake. He gives off a brief smile, standing calm by his Jeep as he watches them.

"Jake." Tony calls out. "You know this has never been your fight."

"You're bullying my best friend, you're smart. Now rephrase what you just said," Jake exercises his seniority.

The boys move away from their car, as does Jake, sequentially. The corporative understanding of both parties shows this has happened a couple times.

"Let's see what you can do with my ball this time," Tony smiles evilly as he throws the ball in the air and shoots it at Jake before it returns to the ground.

The ball approaches Jake in rough speed, being escorted by the fury of the wind and the cruelness of fire simultaneously, so that the green path it chose to take turns to black soil.

Jake catches it up on his toe and juggles it a couple few times till the gold flames on it turn to thick red. He smiles at the boys and shortly, launches it back at them in the same speed as it came.

Carson moves in front boastfully to take the shot, but as he raises his leg to kick it, it pushes him backwards in a spinning motion. He rotates back once and comes for it again with a renewed force and a lot of flaming energy on his leg. It gets filled with gold flames again and goes for Jake with the speed of a bullet.

Without hesitation, Jake jumps up in the air and double hits the ball with his knees, emitting his own flames to fill it again.

Following his footsteps, they execute the same move, launching the ball back at him with their knees, all three of them in continuous acceleration. It returns to it's sender in uncanny energy.

Jake strikes the ball down with flames on his palm which he shaped like a sharp object, "Enough!"

"C'mon guys, let's get going," Austin turns around to enter his car alongside his girlfriend.

Carson stares at Jake for a second and chooses to do the same. But not Tony, he sits on his car in his malevolent visage earnestly staring at Jake who returns the stare.

In the speed of burning fire ignited by unceasing fuel, a blacky speeds off to the top of the field and directly walks to Jake without looking to any side.

"You're under arrest for harassing a nabob, soldier." The blacky breaks he news. "I should strike you down where you stand, but you're a sainty, so I'd spare you to see your commanders first. But the penalty remains death."

Naturally, Saint Soldiers are no match for Black Justice agents, so Jake willingly gives his hands to be cuffed.

"No!" Brown yells out in disapproval.

Meanwhile, the smile on Tony's grim face widens, gradually.