I watch with utter delight as he burns—cremates—his form, crumbling into nothing but scattered ash, and his dragon dissipating along with him.
I laugh maniacally, my chest rising and falling with exhilaration.
This is what power feels like.
I turn, my gaze seeking another target.
The beasts. They still tear everything in sight. My rage knows no bounds as I bring light to the place.
Light does not always bring life.
It can be death.
And tonight, it will rain down upon those who hurt the ones I love.
I throw my arms wide, spinning in circles, letting the red rain soak my skin.
Their snarls warp, stretch, and twist.
Screams replace them.
I stop.
I stand—not on a war-torn battlefield, but in a village torn through by flame and horror.
The bodies are not beasts…they are people—a charred ocean of corpses—blackened by my own lighting. The scent of their burnt flesh clogs my throat.
Shouting rises above the storm. Villagers—the ones who still stand—brandish weapons, their screams filled with raw hatred.
Slurs. Curses.
They see me as a monster. I amone.
The priest steps forward, leading them with his cross held by trembling hands. His voice, however, does not tremble, but the quiver in his bottom lip hints he is not as unaffected as he pretends to be. He holds his ground, shouting prayers and wielding holy water. His faith fortifies them.
Fools. I am already in your minds.
Their fearand anger are thick, curling through my senses. It feeds me. Fuels me.
A wild laugh bubbles from my throat; the sound has a dark cadence.
Not mine, or is it?
The voice is there again. It’s feline and silken, rubbing against my mind like a cat arching into a touch.
“Vermin, livestock.” Her words slither through me, curling into every crevice of my thoughts.
“They were made for you. To be consumed. To make you stronger.”
The chanting begins as a single murmur and then as many.
A chorus. A roar.
“They kill your kind. They have always killed your kind.”
“Cage is one of them. A mage stole what you loved. Mages love humans.”
“Take, Millicent.”
