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Description
Fire. It was everywhere. It consumed him in a relentless inferno of rage and animal instinct. Instinct that was urging him to kill, to destroy. To obliterate whatever had caused offence, whatever had threatened this precious vessel that carried such immense power. Power…that ever-sought after element this pitiful universe had to offer.

A deep voice, ancient sounding and powerful reverberated through the night, laughing hysterically. Triumphant at his victory over the mere mortals that had dared to defy him his right. He was an all-powerful lord, the very soul of Hades, and nothing could ever come in his path. This idiotic excuse for a host wouldn’t last long now, he would make sure of that.

One last chuckle. One last smile.

“There is no hope left for you now. You are nothing….nothing. Who could ever love you, whose soul is the precious spawn of the Demon Lord?” Ghostly sarcasm riddled his fading voice.

And then. . . nothing. No more flames. No sound. The only living creature in sight was that one lone figure – the figure that had once thrown fireballs and screamed in psychotic euphoria – that stood amongst the wreckage, aftermath of the crimes committed.

His eyes opened. The flames that burned within them flickered once, then died out, leaving creamy, chocolate-tinted orbs behind. He was alone, surrounded by charred wood and twisted, glowing metal. Ash drifted from the sky in a mocking imitation of snowfall. That oppressive silence pounded through his ears, a death march for what had taken place here. For the lives that had been taken. For the new shreds that had been torn from what he had once called a soul.

A shudder rippled through him. He bowed his head, trembling from the guilt and regret for once again losing control of himself. He was disgusted. The emotion coursed through his veins, a ghost of the element that had previously existed within them. Dark thoughts washed through his mind, hate-filled yet justified.

He was no better than an animal, for letting himself go. For letting the monster within prevail and terrorize innocent people. The excuse of instinct – the word was a curse in his mind – was merely that. An excuse. If he was being honest, he was less than animal. He was a beast. A monster. A raging demon from hell that did nothing but destroy and kill.

Loathing replaced his disgust now, loathing for himself. He didn’t deserve to exist. Such thoughts and emotions had been threatening to overtake him since he was a young boy. Now, a decade later, they were all that existed for him.

Tears were falling now, flowing in rivers from his eyes and dripping from his nose and chin. He shook with silent sobs, his mouth stretched wide in a noiseless howl of agony. The remorse for what had occurred here, the grief, the pain…it engulfed him. He drowned in the icy cold misery, wallowed in his well-deserved tortures. It froze him to the core, the emotions crashing against his inferno of a soul in waves. Shock after shock. Layer after layer. It grew until his insides felt like shards of black, glassy obsidian.

The distant sound of sirens brought him back to the outside world, slamming his consciousness against a concrete floor of emotionless reality. He turned to run, the instinct of self-preservation overpowering his conscience’s screams to stay and allow himself to be caught. One glance at the chaos he had wrought told him a guaranteed lifetime behind bars – but no. HE would come out and take over again, once imprisoned, and extinguish more lives. It was better that he go now. Facing a distant line of oppressive trees – the forest that outlined the city limits – he departed the scene at a steady, almost feline run.

By the time the emergency responders arrived, the only thing that moved was the ash-snow, still drifting from the sky.

Description
Fire. It was everywhere. It consumed him in a relentless inferno of rage and animal instinct. Instinct that was urging him to kill, to destroy. To obliterate whatever had caused offence, whatever had threatened this precious vessel that carried such immense power. Power…that ever-sought after element this pitiful universe had to offer.

A deep voice, ancient sounding and powerful reverberated through the night, laughing hysterically. Triumphant at his victory over the mere mortals that had dared to defy him his right. He was an all-powerful lord, the very soul of Hades, and nothing could ever come in his path. This idiotic excuse for a host wouldn’t last long now, he would make sure of that.

One last chuckle. One last smile.

“There is no hope left for you now. You are nothing….nothing. Who could ever love you, whose soul is the precious spawn of the Demon Lord?” Ghostly sarcasm riddled his fading voice.

And then. . . nothing. No more flames. No sound. The only living creature in sight was that one lone figure – the figure that had once thrown fireballs and screamed in psychotic euphoria – that stood amongst the wreckage, aftermath of the crimes committed.

His eyes opened. The flames that burned within them flickered once, then died out, leaving creamy, chocolate-tinted orbs behind. He was alone, surrounded by charred wood and twisted, glowing metal. Ash drifted from the sky in a mocking imitation of snowfall. That oppressive silence pounded through his ears, a death march for what had taken place here. For the lives that had been taken. For the new shreds that had been torn from what he had once called a soul.

A shudder rippled through him. He bowed his head, trembling from the guilt and regret for once again losing control of himself. He was disgusted. The emotion coursed through his veins, a ghost of the element that had previously existed within them. Dark thoughts washed through his mind, hate-filled yet justified.

He was no better than an animal, for letting himself go. For letting the monster within prevail and terrorize innocent people. The excuse of instinct – the word was a curse in his mind – was merely that. An excuse. If he was being honest, he was less than animal. He was a beast. A monster. A raging demon from hell that did nothing but destroy and kill.

Loathing replaced his disgust now, loathing for himself. He didn’t deserve to exist. Such thoughts and emotions had been threatening to overtake him since he was a young boy. Now, a decade later, they were all that existed for him.

Tears were falling now, flowing in rivers from his eyes and dripping from his nose and chin. He shook with silent sobs, his mouth stretched wide in a noiseless howl of agony. The remorse for what had occurred here, the grief, the pain…it engulfed him. He drowned in the icy cold misery, wallowed in his well-deserved tortures. It froze him to the core, the emotions crashing against his inferno of a soul in waves. Shock after shock. Layer after layer. It grew until his insides felt like shards of black, glassy obsidian.

The distant sound of sirens brought him back to the outside world, slamming his consciousness against a concrete floor of emotionless reality. He turned to run, the instinct of self-preservation overpowering his conscience’s screams to stay and allow himself to be caught. One glance at the chaos he had wrought told him a guaranteed lifetime behind bars – but no. HE would come out and take over again, once imprisoned, and extinguish more lives. It was better that he go now. Facing a distant line of oppressive trees – the forest that outlined the city limits – he departed the scene at a steady, almost feline run.

By the time the emergency responders arrived, the only thing that moved was the ash-snow, still drifting from the sky.