Hothead (Level 8)

You know Newdeath's cell phone number? Cool.

Derek strolled through the dark corridors. Four voices a short distance away. At a guess, judging by the pitches of the voices, two members of staff and two students. Something of an odd hour to hold a meeting, most people were asleep. He pulled his wand and held his breath as he snuck along the corridor. He noticed that troublesome boy Caius Weaver, as well as Professor Crow, who taught Care of Magical Creatures. Entering the room, he saw another student, and Professor Jack, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. "Mind telling me why we're all up so late?" He asked, an eyebrow raised in questioning.

@willyvereb: I figured pre reboot Hothead wasn't really overpowered as is, so I figured simply changing the backstory wouldn't be a problem.

History

  
Dragons. Magnificent, winged, frie breathing behemoths. Driven to the point of extinction by a race that feared and despised them, the last of this mystical race uses its magic to choose a champion. Four beasts remain. The last dragon is among them. Its champion - the human known for his bravery, courage, and hot temper - was gifted with mighty fire powers. Using these powers, he is Hothead, the Dragon Knight!
 

The human

Consider a human male. He's like any other. Striving to be the best he can. If he has a flaw, its his temper. A gym, the lights dark. A single light shines on the punching bag as it creaks back and forth on a slightly rusty chain. A fist flies out of the darkness surrounding it and strikes the bag. A loud, almost mournful screeching sound as the chain protests its treatment. Two fists fly out of the dark. Thumpthump! The punch bag swings around, a leg powerfully striking it. A disturbance of the light as a shoulder is seen, a rolling motion as if to confuse an enemy. From the new direction, the effort to pound the equipment into submission is redoubled. Slowly shuffling sounds are heard below the power of the man striking the bag again and again as the angle slowly changes. A slight  pause and a whisper of air as the unknown assailant dodges imaginary blows, before commencing his vicious assault. The creaking of the chain halts for a second before it snaps, the bag swinging more freely, and savaged by a high roundhouse kick. The assault stops and a deep panting sound is heard. The lights snap on, and the fighter stands. He turns, and sees nothing. A voice rumbles in his head. "You...are brave and courageous." Derek Reeves went rigid with shock, then slowly looked around. There was no one here. "You are wondering where I am Derek? The question is not where, but what." The accomplished fighter's body fell limply to the wooden floor, as in his mind he was rushing over mountain ranges and through clouds. Suddenly he dove through a hole in the ground into a dark cavern. A coiling mass of dark red scales sat before him. Scanning up, he stared into the beast's eyes, two points of yellow set in the almost black face. "I am the last of the Dragons." The thing said, Derek's mind burning from the telepathic connection. "And you are my Champion."
 
Derek gulped. "What?" The dragon fired a stream of flame from its mouth, enveloping the fighter, and he fell to the ground as he felt the heat endlessly pouring itself upon him. After a moment, the powerful stream of flame ended, and Derek forced himself up onto his knees, and crawled to the deep pool at one edge of the cave. He stared into the deep water, that allowed him to stare back at his scarred face. He whipped around in anger, on his feet now. "What did you do?" He yelled, a few flames coming from his mouth.
 
"You can now control flame, bend it to your will, and there is a link between my mind and your mind. Go forth from this place and make people believe in the glory of the Dragon!" With a powerful roar from the Dragons lungs, Derek jerked upwards into a sitting position on the floor of his gym. Was it a dream? A hallucination? He stared around. The gym looked the same, apart from...Upon the wall sat a mysterious sword rack. It held a single blade. Stylised like a dragon, it held the sword with a claw near the tip, and a claw below the hilt. He walked to it and seized the handle, drawing it with a metallic ring. A burning sensation flared in his head. "This is the blade of the Dragon Champion. You are a master with it. It is in your fiery blood." Derek had never used a sword in his life. And yet he spun it expertly, swiping the air a number of times. His muscles seemed to twirl the sword for him. "This sword was forged with my breath. It shall never be broken." He slid the sword back into its place. 
 
He closed his fists and they set alight. "I guess I don't have a choice. This world will be purified in fire!"

Powers

 
    Blazing Bolts : The ability to project blazing bolts, destructive, incinerating long-range beams of fire from any part of one's body at will (They could be able to blow reinforced, solid titanium walls without effort). 
 
Burning : The ability to burn, scald, singe, scorch, vaporize, evaporate, and incinerate virtually any being or object by touch. 
 
Fire Absorption : The character can absorb any amount of flame into his/her body harmlessly. 
 
Fire Breath : A character can project his/her fire from his/her mouth by breathing and exhaling at will, like a dragon. 
 
Fire Extinguishing : The character can extinguish any fire in his vicinity mentally. 
 
Fire Projectiles : The ability to make constructs out of flame (fireballs being the most common) and hurl them at opponents. Also includes shooting a steady stream of fire from the hands. 
 
Fiery Projections : The ability to generate, project, and create virtually any shapes, objects, constructs, weapons, and even beings composed of fire from any point on one's body. 
 
Firestorm : The ability to summon a firestorm that can cover great distances, from an acre to over a fifty thousand-mile radius. 
 
Flight : A character's body and plasma could possess a high hydrogen content, and could be surrounded by an exuded cloud of mono-atomic hydrogen atoms. This hot cloud could provides sufficient positive buoyancy for him/her to float. With mental stimulation of his/her flame, he/she could provide enough lift to carry an undetermined amount of weight that could be greater than one could normally carry. By forming a jet from his/her feet, directed behind him/her, one could achieve supersonic speeds of up to at least 300 miles per hour. 
 
Pyrokinesis : The ability to telekinetically control and manipulate any fire or flame, even ones one did not manufacture, and utilize them in any way imaginable. One could possess complete and precise control over their shape, size, intensity, density, temperature, and even color. He/she could alter its size and intensity from a mere candlestick flame, to an immeasurable inferno. He/she could telekinetically manipulate any fire or flame to do whatever he/she desires. 
 
Spontaneous Combustion : The ability to spontaneously combust and/or engulf any portion of or all of oneself in fiery plamsa without harm to oneself whatsoever. 
 
Welding and Fusing : One can control his flame to perform the most delicate welding jobs. He/she can fuse craters, holes, or openings in walls, floors, ceilings, or the ground.
 

Weaknesses

 
Extreme cold: In extremely cold conditions, one finds it near or completely impossible to create or maintain a good amount of fire.  The fire breath power can be reduced to simply spitting hot embers from ones mouth.

@DreamWeaver: O_O Sets the little pervert on fire.

Cool idea!

@DreamWeaver: Really? I feel happy now. Hugs.

Derek smirked as he sat at his desk. For a while, he'd been thinking about a particular spell, and judging by the disembodied flame slowly hovering aorund the office, he had perfected it. With a flourish of his wand, the flame was extinguished. He walked out of his office, and observed his class. A few students gasped at his scarred face, something he was used to, but his eyes followed a paper aeroplane one of the students had charmed so that it would zip around the rafters at high speed, divebombing the class every so often. After a few moments Derek stared at the students, and smiled. With a silent point of his wand, a small aeroplane like construct shot from the end of it, and followed the enchanted paper. After ten seconds, the flame struck the piece of paper and consumed it, a few ashes falling to the stone floor. His eyes looked around the class, before reaching a hand to his eye and rubbing the scar. "When you are in a duel, class, what do you think will serve you best? Enchanting scraps of paper, or conjuring flames?" The nearest row of children were shocked when the scarred wizard stared at them. "Of course, improper focus can be as much a tool for destruction as any Dark Wizard." To illustrate his point, a candle sat at the back of the classroom, above the heads of any students. He thrust out his wand, and, although not a massive plume of fire erupted from his wand, a number of students dived out of the way. A thin laser like point of flame stretched from his wand, went the length of the room and lit the candle, before disappearing. "Not properly focusing on my spells as I cast them is what gave me this." He gestured to his scar.
 
"Sir." A student half the class back spoke, raising her hand. "Why don't you have the matron heal that for you? Or do it yourself?" Derek smiled. "Good question, Miss..." He said, as though the name were on the tip of his tongue. "Cresswell, Professor." Derek nodded. "Miss Cresswell. The precise reason, the one reason that I do not have this scar healed, is because it cannot be." A few students straightened up. "Let me be one, I doubt the first, and definitely not the last to warn you of the dangers of Dark Magic." A round of whispers rippled through the class. "Sir, are you saying you were experimenting with Dark Magic?" A student said, standing up. The crest on his chest identified him as a Ravenclaw. This one Derek knew the name of. "Yes, Mr. Hepford. I am telling you that a few years before I accepted the teaching post here, I was experimenting with Dark Magic. Before my spell blew up in my face." He leaned forward, "literally." More children, more questions. "I was experimenting with Dark Magic because I didn't heed warnings like the type I am giving you now, and I am quite adept at fire spells, I was attempting to utilise a fire based curse I found in a spell book. Unfortunately I was not focused." All the hands slowly lowered. "Anyway...today I shall teach you some of the spells I know." His wand flourished and a stream of fire shot straight up, and formed a large flaming exclamation mark above his head. "Emergency retrieval spell." He started walking around the classroom, and the symbol followed him rather comically. "In many countries, wizards and witches must know this spell by their third year. It is designed to send an alarm to nearby allies that one is in trouble." He stopped, and the mark stopped, still straight above him. "And it can be neutralised..." He waved a wand and it disappeared into smoke which slowly exited through the windows. "Quite easily." The students were amazed. "Now point ypur wands upward and say, clearly and loudly, "Exclamato!"." He informed the class, staring at them. "Begin." The class picked up their wands, pointed them at the ceiling and shouted "Exclamato!" Nothing happened. "Again. Pronunciate. Exclamato." He said it slowly, and one by one, the class tried again.

@DreamWeaver: No. No I am not alive. I am buried underground, completely dead. As in fatally, completely, dead. In a very gruesome way, might I add.
 
Okay, I'm not really dead. I'm sorry for joking around with such a serious topic. Is ashamed of himself.

Wait, just one damn minute. Pyrokinetic enemies? WHY THE HELL WAS I NOT INFORMED?! COUNT ME IN MAN!

I'm pretty sure I posted.

Derek rubbed the scar over his eye. It had been irritating him for some time. His coworkers had tried all manner of charms and spells, but nothing worked. He remembered the incident that scarred him like it was yesterday. He'd been in a fight with another wizard who had been holding a grudge for ages, and he'd managed ot get through Derek's otherwise perfect defense and scarred him, just missing the eye itself. He stood up, and moved to the window. From there he could see the Forbidden Forest, all manner of spectacular and unbelievable creatures lived. He rubbed his eye again, and one of the portraits started speaking. "I say, Professor de la Flamme, I suggest you go down to the infirmary if your scar irritates you so." Derek scowled deeply. "Thank you for your concern, but my scar is fine." His scar always itched more when he was angry or irritable. "Sir, you have an hour free now. Why you chose Defense Against the Dark Arts I shall never know. We all know you prefer the creatures of our world." Derek grinned, and the itching in his eye subsided slightly. "Nor shall I." He turned and beheld the portrait. It was of an Auror who had died rather recently. The man was looking at the desk. The fact that there were more books on magical creatures than the teacher's own subject was inconsequential. He moved back to his desk and graded a final paper without sitting down. "I shall be off now, Gregory. I shall return in a while." The Auror nodded, and walked out of the frame. "Portraits. They can never stay in one place for too long." Derek chuckled and left his office. The steps were at an awkward angle to the door, but Derek jogged down them instinctively. A lesser man may well have slipped. He strode down the empty classroom and opened the door, then began a swift walk down the long spiral staircase. As he walked he greeted portraits, and they greeted him in return.

He reached the bottom of the staircase and eyed the statue of the hump-backed old witch. Few people knew about it, but there was a passage into the village Hogsmeade underneath the statue. He turned and exited the tower and began walking through the castle itself. Every now and then, he'd greet a student. Occasionally they'd greet him as well, occasionally they didn't. Those that didn't often found themselves victims of strings of bad luck. Luckily, most took it as a joke. He was too preoccupied to actually pay attention to who did and who didn't and his wand stayed in place. He thought about those students who might be trouble. There was that kid who was taking fourth year courses, Caius Weaver, a bunch of other Slytherins, and a few from other houses. A few rebellious Gryffindors might pose a problem too. Luckily, most were in the first couple of years, and those who weren't could be dealt with rather easily. Professor McGonagall caught up with him. "Goodness, Derek. I have no idea how you walk so fast." Derek smiled. "Plenty of practice, Minerva, lots and lots of practice." The two walked in silence for a moment. "The Headmaster wishes to know the names of those students who you think might be trouble." McGonagall reminded him. "Yes, I do remember, thank you, Minerva, I am actually on my way to see him, just as soon as I make a quick stop at the Library." The Deputy Headmistress seemed to be pleased with that. "Very well, Professor, good day to you." She turned on her heel and walked off down a hallway. "And to you." Derek said to himself as he walked towards the Library.

@Superevil225: I can be around without people seeing me. It's part of my training.

@Superevil225: I never left.

Derek entered the bar, wearing a cloak. Underneath, one could his armour clanging.

I'll so do this...but the only spell I know is "Incendio" lol

The pyrokinetic enters and immediately begins to burn the sofa.

Posted.

The demon eyed the blade. His hand curled into a fist, and he summoned a sword composed entirely of fire. He deflected the woman's blade and then unleashing a vicious play of offense and somehow defense at the same time against her and the gunfighter. The blade in his hand flickered, then faded away. He could feel something drain his energy. He turned and saw the mage draining his energy. "Heathen mortal! You are not worthy of wielding my awesome power!" He took a step forward before stopping. A cage of electricity had been securely closed around him. He turned to the gunfighter. "Fool." He said. The next move would consume so much energy it would have to count. Pure black hellfire crowded his open hands, and he sent one ball at the gunfighter, before whirling around and throwing the second at the mage. If that didn't stop the mage draining his energy it would be over.

Derek's mind.

"Looks like my friends are kicking your pasty little demonic @$$." Derek said.

Tuz snorted in reply, "I can defeat them."

"With some help."

"What did you have in mind?"

"I propose a deal, mr Demon man. One that benefits us both."

"I'm listening."

"All you have to do is be my servant till I die."

"WHAT?!"

"Come on, Tuz. With all the stupid $#!t I do, I'll probably die soon anyway. And once I'm dead, you get my body to control. Deal?"

"I'll think about it, mortal."

@Newdeath: Yes you can join.