Warlocks generally do not get along with other creatures… or each other for that matter. We are generally depicted as, literally, evil personified. Nine times out of ten, they are just that! Warlocks get their eldritch power through forming pacts demons, liches, fallen angels, and those kinds of "friendly" fun-lovers. My father was one such a man, a terrifying monster of a man who gave it all up for revenge.
He got greedy though, wanting to harness and enslave the being that essentially granted him that power, in essence he bit the hand that feeds. As you can well imagine, said demon took quite the exception to that, and killed, no, incinerated him, leaving only a cloud of ashes to swirl away in the hot rush of air.
This is where I popped into the picture, still a young child at the time, knowing nothing better, my mom and I were always on the run from my psychopathic father. My warlock blood didn't make itself known until I found out I could summon a faint, ghost blue fire to my palms when I needed light.
I was about a block away from school, navigating the congested streets of Los Angeles, before I decided to risk making a pyro-jump, like a flash, my body went up in flames, licking away into nothingness, or as I found out later that my psycho called it, "the void". Flaring back into existence in a back alley close by my mom's apartment, I ventured out just to be narrowly missed by a short, yellow school bus.
"Holy Jeezus!" I yelped, jumping and trying to get my heart back out of my throat. "Goddamned psychopath almost ran me over!" I snarled to myself, glancing back towards where the bus had taken off. Turning my face forward I was instantly greeted with a slap as the tail wind from that bus whipped a pamphlet in my face. "Youkai Academy eh? I was actually curious about going to japan on exchange anyway… what the hell, it's worth a shot." I muttered as I stowed the paper away in my backpack.