Mr. Fisher was lying on his couch, drunk; this was not how he had expected his Christmas to go. His life was ruined because some magicless brat ruined his reputation, causing him to flee the state, even if he confessed out of fear. He used his heating magic to heat his cold hot pockets. If he could have his revenge, he would. But his heating magic only makes things instantly warm nothing more, nothing less. He would give anything for power and burn Zero alive. If he could become the strongest, he could do anything,

  When he went to heat up his final Hot Pocket, he felt a minor stinging sensation. Unsure of what happened, he ignored it and went back to drinking and watching TV, still resentful. Then, in a sudden fit of anger, he threw his beer bottle at his television, shattering the gss of both the bottle and the screen. He wanted power. He needed power. Power to kill that bastard principal, power to kill that magicless kid because even if the world doesn’t like him, he still has legal protection until he’s an adult.

  He fell asleep mumbling things like how he’d do anything for power no matter the cost. But unknown to him, his wishes resonated with his magic; his magic doubled down on its awakening, and his wish would be granted soon enough. Little did he know that he would become worse than a demon, a literal walking apocalypse, generating fear just by his mere existence. His magic, his respect, his camity. It will rise again.

  While he slept, his magic began to mutate, with the desire to become as strong as it should’ve been. To become true to its nature. Its nature aligns with its host's desires. Making for an adequate magic rather than a useless sham. Its own desire is to be the strongest mutation, no matter the cost. As if it was saying, “It’s not my fault. Much less yours. You just didn’t know how to control it yourself. And now, neither do I.”Later in the morning, Mr. Fisher woke up in the morning, not realizing that his magic was actively mutating because of his greed for revenge. His magic had entered a rarely documented state of constant evolution. He used his magic to warm up bread in the morning as per usual. But this time, something was different. The bread was instantly reduced to ash. He stared at the ashes, blinking slowly. His sluggish mind struggled to catch up.

  But then after some time of processing and registering.

  He realized what just happened, this heat was absurdly more potent than the original capacity he had just yesterday. He grinned from ear to ear with triumph, his wish had been granted. But then the realization hit him like a freight train; how now quite literally held the power in his hand to get revenge. At least two specific revenge attacks before the authorities caught him. For the first time, he could feel it— real, raw, unfathomable power, thrumming beneath his fingertips. A gift. A weapon. This was indeed a wonderful Christmas.Mr. Fisher strolled through the city with a bounce in his step, his newfound arrogance swelling with every stride. He was finally strong now, though unquantifiable at the moment. He can finally carry out his pn and defend his name. Someone bumps into Mr. Fisher, prompting his profound arrogance to turn to rage, believing he is deliberately being disrespected. Before the man could even apologize, Fisher's fingers tched onto his face.

  In a heartbeat, heat surged— too fast, too sudden. Flesh bubbled, veins boiled, and bones bckened to dust, incinerating him from the inside in a mere fraction of a second using his new evolution. By the time Fisher let go, there was nothing left but the flowing ashes in the silent breeze.A couple of weeks ter, Mr. Fisher was going through with his original pn. He’s been pnning this for weeks after the rediscovery of his magic. Mr. Fisher had been waiting in the airport for a while now. But then the airport PSA chimed as it announced the dey for his flight. “Attention passengers: This is an announcement for Flight 2294. Due to unforeseen circumstances, the flight from Nevada to New York has been deyed by one day. We apologize for the inconvenience and appreciate your patience. Thank you for choosing the American Magus Empire.”

  This infuriated Mr. Fisher. As he approached the woman at the PSA desk, his magic began to fre up. But then Mr. Fisher began to feel pain. He stumbled back from the immensity of the pain, and his own magic was starting to physically affect him. This was way hotter than when he instantly incinerated that man. The woman looked concerned, but she was afraid to help after seeing the earlier malice in his eyes. Mr. Fisher stumbled back, gasping. His magic was no longer responding to him— Mr. Fisher tried to shut off his magic. Again. And again. Nothing. It was futile. The heat only grew stronger. His skin began to blister. His skin was beginning to peel off his muscles, curling away in sickening strips, part by part.Mr. Fisher ran to the bathroom to see what was wrong with him. The heat of his magic was causing his body to undergo rapid epidermal necrosis. In other words, his skin was beginning to peel off his muscles, curling away in sickening strips, part by part. Blisters spread across his body, wounds tearing open— yet every drop of blood evaporated before it could fall. Mr. Fisher couldn’t muster the courage to scream, or else it would result in more pain.

  He tried to grip the sink for stability, ANY sense of stability. But his hands burnt through the solid surface like it was phasing through, like he was transparent, like a ghost in this world once more. His clothes had long since disintegrated a long time ago. What was happening to him? Was this his karma? He ran out of the stall, desperate to do anything to alleviate this rising burning pain; constantly running into things and people, accidentally destroying and hurting without intention, quite literally leaving a bloody trail. This was merely the second phase of his magical evolution.The airport guards rushed in to see the commotion, but they felt the heat first. They saw Mr. Fisher fighting for his life, he looked like a madman; they saw his flesh was being stripped away, but there was no blood to show for it. Saying that he was in terrible shape was an understatement; his blood was gone, dried completely, well, at least the ones on the exterior. They prepared their magical weapons to neutralize him, but that was instantly shut down.

  The weapons were fragile compared to the radiating heat pulsating from Mr. Fisher. His body and magic were in conflict, warring against the individual who was acting like a madman from the pain. His magic was constantly evolving toward supremacy, and his body ached for sustainability. Whatever is happening is a tragic sight, one that no one can fight. He looked like a madman trying to stifle his own pain.

  But to him, all he could think about was his regret. However, this was not remorse. His regret was letting his greed get the better of him. And now… it was too te. Due to the raw unpredictability of magic, there was no way anyone could actually prevent or undo this outcome. Sure, you could get rid of magic. But, that’s asking to take away a major structure of society. A magic that began a process of continuous evolution, where will this go?Mr. Fisher was running wildly before abruptly coming to a halt; even moving hurt too much at this point. He looked at all the eyes on him, but he didn’t care about that at that moment. His pain was so immense that he didn’t even realize his autoimmune was combatting his own flesh, completely discarding it amidst the chaos for a solid shot at survival, viewing his skin as a sweater to be discarded to help cool down. His raw muscles caused his pain to rise exponentially. He wanted to scream, but he didn’t; he couldn’t.

  To kill him via evolution is redundant, so this has to stop now. His movement abruptly stopped in its tracks, his body instantly turning to ice in less than a second; the ice was so dense and cold, so unbreakable, that it overpowered the heat. Due to neither the magic nor the body being able to come to a compromise, it activated a pause; the third phase of the evolution is called the Fsh Freeze stage. Where one’s magic and body take a moment to process the confusion and come to a consensus; in this case, his body was internally super hot, and the ice served as a freeze-down. The guards began to call for more backup; they had a bad feeling and needed to act fast. This man was a threat not only to himself but everyone and everything around him.

  During phase three. The magic was desperate for supremacy, and the body was desperate for sustainability; it finally came to another magic evolution, one that would satisfy both the magic’s desire for supremacy and the body’s need for sustainability. pave the way for the fourth stage of this constant evolution. Mr. Fisher’s body mutated to develop regeneration magic, this was passively activated against his will. But this was a far cry from the average regeneration magic; it was cancerous. It could restore one’s entire body in a fraction of a second. With that in mind, since this regeneration was constantly active, it’s going to cause several biological modifications.The ice that surrounded Mr. Fisher had begun to crack, more and more by the second. Then—crack. The silence-shattering breakage of the ice freed him once more. Phase four had begun, and his body immediately started undergoing massive anatomical and physiological changes. The cancerous regeneration caused an influx of cell production, leading to a growth in size. His relentless epidermal necrosis and immune response twisted him into something grotesque— a mockery of a monster, a sham of a demon, with no trace of the man he once was. This immediately led to phase five without a pause; his blood was constantly being heated by his magic, causing it to boil. But that’s not all. Over the fourth stage, his blood became corrosive.Mr. Fisher began to walk again, although it no longer carried that same haughtiness from before, it wasn’t exactly desperate either. It was mock calm; the pain overrode his cognitive functions. He was walking slowly forward without a destination, his pain preventing him from running away from his suffering. His magic was poisoning his senses and thoughts. He wasn’t sure what to do anymore; anything and everything caused him pain. Especially the changes in his biology dictated by his magic.

  The guards threatened him to stop walking, but he just walked through them like a steamroller, burning right through them due to the immense heat emission in his body. Their authority fell on deaf ears; how could they not? Over the screaming pain that is, logic is out the window. There was screaming and chaos from civilians; everyone was ordered to evacuate the area while backup arrived. Mr. Fisher finally found the urge to scream after his jaw fell off the muscles unable to support itself and his tongue fell loose. But it didn’t come out like that. It came out as a raw, cataclysmic sonic bst— incinerating anything that stood in its path. Blocks of buildings crumbled. The air itself being ignited. His name? He… had a name, once. Didn’t he? It was gone now. Burned away like everything else. He wasn’t a man. Not a person. He was an event. A disaster that can only walk forward. In search of peace that will never exist.

  Suddenly, a trained guard tried to permanently neutralize Mr. Fisher, seeing as this was quickly getting out of hand. He held his arms together and chanted his magic. Firing a deadly beam of psma at Mr. Fisher. But this didn’t do anything, no, no, no. Not even close. His magic had evolved a long way compared to when he was just some average teacher. Instead, the magic reacted with the psma, adopting the fourth state of matter into its evolution.

  This was the beginning of phase six… Mr. Fisher’s magic evolved once more. Now it wasn’t just emitting heatwaves… no, its power took a deadly surge statewide… it was radiating psma now. Cement within miles of him was reduced to magma, all water in the vicinity instantly vaporized, the gss began to melt, and every lifeform in his range was instantly eradicated, regardless of whether he wanted to or not. And worst of all? He had nowhere to go. Nowhere to turn to. He had to suffer the pain by himself. His greed became his asylum.The authorized military mages, after the airport guards reported the incident, finally arrived to detain Mr. Fisher. Only then did they realize one problem: they couldn’t even get close enough to detain him. They watched how all of Nevada was sunken down to the ground the mere moment he evolved to the sixth phase; even the ground was a pool of va.

  In comparison to previous greedy mutations, it caused the user to grow stronger, but never like this, at this scale. The worst recorded mutation in history previously was a Florakinetic woman who became a carnivorous flower.

  They were all thinking the same thing: “There’s no saving him now. We can’t fight this.” Sweat ran down their faces, a mix of fear and suffocating heat. The whole world has never seen a magic mutation this deadly; whatever prompted his evolutions must’ve been due to deep and emotional greed. In the face of despair, they made the only possible choice. The commander’s voice rang out like a gunshot, but even his allies could hear the tinge of fear. 'SEAL NEVADA. NOW. GO, GO, GO!' No hesitation. No second chances. They moved. Fast.

  It was a race against time. Phase seven possibly loomed over the nation, the world even; it was inevitable. They knew they should save him. But it was the world over Mr. Fisher. They permanently and omnidirectionally sealed Nevada with a magic barrier that.

  This was a supreme-level government spell, one that dictated no one and nothing but government personnel was allowed to enter or leave, even in light. Mr. Fisher was to stay there until his magic stopped evolving, but the worst case scenario, he’d be there forever. Whatever the case may be, the outside world will never hear about this. To avoid total public panic, they will have to redact this as the Nevada Incident.

  Amongst all of this… Fisher… Or whatever he was now. He walked. His horrific form that mocked even demons was now just a silhouette among the ionized destruction, radiation toxicity, and overheating illumination of the piercing inferno of reddish-orange. A human still conscious, trapped in the shell of his greed, bound to walk for eternity as an ever-evolving cacophony of destruction. Left. Abandoned. And forgotten.