The building was on fire. Plain and simply on fire. Black smoke poured out of the house and the sound of wood sizzling made his ears bleed. Harsh lights kept spitting back small bursts of fire into the wind, a small portion of the thing that was devouring his house like some sort of meal, and not a residents in which people lived in.

His family was there.

A crowd had grown outside, surrounding the house as they watched on in horror. He recognised some of them in the crowd – Yuki Hansuko, an old lady who had lived down the street for as long as he remembered, who he had met once or twice when walking from home, was now gazing into the fire, mouth hang open in shock – but most of the people there were shrouded in darkness, faces lit up from the heat of the fire.

His house, on fire.

His house. His family.

His family was in there.

At first, he was hesitant reaching out. Not sure what to do. Not sure if he could do anything to help — the shock had rendered him useless. Yet, that nagging — that thought, of his loved ones corpses burning with that place — it had set a fear like no other to nestle in his heart, and suddenly he knew what to do.

Not missing a beat, he walked over to the gate, crossing its boundaries and into his small front yard. Its flames hadn't reached here, seeming to stop at the doors entrance – interesting, but he didn't have the time to ponder why right now. Behind him, shrieks of confusion and worry came from those watching – yet, as no one came to stop him, he carried along, ignoring the pleas and cries for him to step back; after all, if they really cared, they would've rushed after him long ago.

They don't care.

Into the doorway, flames licking at his shoes, he paused for a moment. Would risking being burnt alive overcome the guilt of letting those he loved be eaten up from flames, or would it be better to wait for a professional to get here?  A fireman, surely, an ambulance, hopefully – but as he looked across from him to the bystanders screaming to come back, he wondered how long it would take for them to arrive to his house. He wondered if he had enough time for that; enough patience for that.

The fire licked at his shoes, yet the fabric did not burn.

Go.
Free them.

He turned his back towards the bystanders and walked into the flames. The house was in ruins, fire in every corner and smoke engulfing all the spare space where fire wasn't – he could barely make out the foot of the stairs, barely breathe as it was as he rushed around the house. These flames wouldn't hurt him, but he wasn't so sure with his family – sure, Ritsu may be psychic, but he didn't have the same connection to it like he did.

No one is the same as you. Of course he wouldn't.

He took a look at downstairs, aura pulsing out for any bodies, reaching out across the coaches and benches and chairs – nothing, other then the prickle of flame. He took his right, to the base of the stairs, climbing up them frantically. The wood was unstable, and he had to make sure none of the wood collapsed from under him more then once, but when he reached upstairs nothing was better — if anything, it was worse.

Doors were swung open, and he raced around each room, searching for bodies or any sign of his family. Thoughts were swarming in his head, and the smoke that had invaded his lungs didn't help slow them down – if anything, it made his panic grow worse, his thoughts turn into chaos as each room proved to be empty.

A flying waltz of green out of the corner of his eye, the call of his name: "Shigeo!"

He looked at the cloud-spirit-ghost, his colour seeming like a blinding light. A stark contrast to the red and yellow of the flames, and the coal black and grey of the smoke. He didn't stop rushing from room to room, but he did slow down his pace a bit – if only to hear the spirit better.

"There were signs of a struggle," the spirit explained, voice high with anxiety. "your family—they might still be here!"
A bad thing – it just meant he had to look harder, think quicker. He spread his aura out around the house, feeling every surface and every bump – although his rational thinking may have been warped from the lack of oxygen and stress, he could at least have the sane thing to do and spread out his aura around the area.

A step. A sharp left. Feeling, feeling, feeling—

Nothing. He sucked in a breath and turned his heel to the end of the hallway, a door left half-open. He beelined for it, praying not to find anyone at all – and if he did, for them to be alive and well. He took the doorknob with tense hands, twisting it open and swinging the door forward. The iron burned under his touch, yet he held no mind as flames engulfed his vison, a wave of heat blasting in from the room. He looked around.

Flames, smoke, burning books, burning wood, burning people—

Burning people.

His heart launched into his throat, psychic power going wild within him as the emotions snapped into overdrive. The amount of dread and anxiety that had been building up at turned into sick, twisted rage.
Bodies. One hand, stretched out for help – but it seemed the cry for savour was swallowed by the flames latching onto their body. There seemed to be three of them – three, mangled bodies, killed within agony and pain, and suddenly everything seemed to blur.

Rage filled his lungs, more than the smoke ever could, and he felt the screams of the spirit crying for him to look away. But he couldn't. No, how could he look away from the corpses of his family? How could he look away from the people he loved most, dead?

His family was dead.

Dead.

The word kept repeating in his head – echoing and echoing, a chorus of pain and misery repeated over and over and over – and he felt his bones begin to pop, his flesh begin to rip open as his thoughts overflowed his mind.

Dead. Dead dead dead dead--

His hands began to twitch, the flow of psychic power overwhelming his senses as he felt his emotions skyrocketing. The picture, the image of his family dead before him, became blurry as electricity become weaved into his bloodline, his powers forcing his jaw open as he let out a small scream. The wave of power pushed back some of the flames and smoke, creating a small air barrier as the floorboards cracked under him.

Dead.

Fire shied away into the very corners of the house, the smoke bellowing out of the house like it was trying to escape him – and he hoped whoever did this was running for the hills, because he was going to kill them. Rip their organs out of their body and twist their throats into a spiral, to burst their lungs open and make them suffer so much more then his family did.

Dead.

Hands twitching, the sound of bones breaking and reconstructing filled his ears as his vision become the edge of red – red filled his lungs, poured into his head as displeasure filled his entire being – he was surprised his powers hadn't ripped the place in two yet; surprised his very existence wasn't breaking the earth in pieces.

Dead.

Faintly, although muffled, he could hear the spirits shrieks as his power outage overflowed from his being. He was a bit surprised – the shock making the heart-eating rage loose its reins for a bit – as he turned towards him. Even if he didn't leave the sight of his families dead bodies from his view, he had turned his head enough to look the spirit in the eyes.

He must have looked scary, because the spirit flinched, horror in his eyes as his being shook. Sweat began to pour down the spirits face, and he knew it wasn't from the fire.

"S-Shigeo," the spirit started, voice trembling before he shook his head. "These bodies—their not your family! They're dummies, Shigeo, dummies—"

"And how do you know that?" he snapped; voice dangerously low as anger filled his blood. His head began to swirl with thoughts, amongst the thymic pattern of dead dead dead was now a train of questions – Dummies? How could these be dummies and not the bodies of his family? How dare this spirit even consider these not to be his family?

"Yeah! Your family, their still alive—these aren't real. These are dummies. There must have been some esper able to make these, these dummies – and they must have fooled you."

"Fool me?" he still wasn't convinced.

The cloud flinched, eyes wide. "Yes! Of course—Shigeo, I know my espers, and I know there was someone who could create dummies—I know there's a power out there like that. They must have been working for someone. An organisation, maybe."

The bones in his fingers kept twitching. His skin was getting red from the heat.

"Organisation?" He rasped.

"Yes," the spirit replied. "The organisation — Claw, I think their name was — they must have tricked you. Known you'd come home late today."

1597 words
Never finished this lol
Mob Psycho 100 brainrot has got me in a death grip lol