It took Michael a moment to register the sound he heard. A stain of red slowly spread across Spencer's chest, a fresh hole roughly in the center.
The other man looked at him for a moment, surprise and pain mixed in his face before he slumped forward, his now dead weight pulling the chains taught.
Michael tried to reach for him but the shackles held I'm in place, forcing him to watch his best friend's body slump to the floor, dead. Spencer hadn't been involved, hell he didn't even know what was going on.
“Now, will you comply or will be be forced to find others to use to...convince you?”
His blood boiled, almost literally. The one person he'd cared about was dead in front of him and this dog had the audacity to act as it was nothing. To act like a few chains would stop him from burning him into nothing but ash.
He lit his fires and let them burn hotter than he ever had since learning to control them. Waves of white-hot flame radiated from his arms, the metal of his shackles melting, the molten steel boring holes into his wrists as it ran down his hands.
The Patriot shouted something, a bullet was fired and it splashed against Michael chest, liquefying before it could reach him.
A torrent of flame ripped from his hands, washing over the floor, licking at the guards. Michael poured more and more into burning them, until the room was filled with white.