“Lyon, what’s the plan?” The man who asked was covered by shadow. His face was unclear except for his blue eyes. Pure fear showed upon them. “What’s the plan?” he asked again, terror seeping from those haunting azure orbs.

Fires danced like demons around Lyon and the other, houses creaked and groaned, slowly collapsing. The warmth was almost intolerable. Sweat poured from their faces and their chests heaved with deep breaths, muffled coughs trying in vain to exhale the suffocating black smoke. Heavy footsteps sounded outside the door they had haphazardly barricaded, clinking metal followed every footfall. Through the slats of the house Lyon was able to see over a score of men armed with swords and clad in shining steel. Their helms reflected off the swaying blaze to make it seem as if their heads were made of flames instead flesh and their bodies clad in pure fire. Their mouths stretched along their faces into maddening grins and all that was missing to complete the visage were horns growing from their glowing helms. Men, born of demons, were attacking his town.

“Settle yourself, Waldemar,” Lyon shushed. “Our plan is to survive, nothing more.” Lyon looked around as smoke bellowed in, filling the entire house they had taken refuge in. No fire had yet taken root in the dusty girders but fire engulfs with utter destruction and abandon. Desperately, he hoped that Galya was alright, and Larisa as well. Most of all, he hoped for Aleksandr’s safety. He silently cursed himself for thinking of his son before his wife and daughter. However, there was no one else to carry on his family name. His two other sons ruthlessly cut down in wars about lands and goods Lyon would never see.

Waldemar whimpered loudly. “Be quiet, you fool!” rumbled Lyon before biting his own lip. He closed his eyes trying to calm himself. “Do you want to draw the entire army’s attention?” No one outside could have possibly heard him; the fires crackled loudly and the other men’s footsteps and helmets prevented such things, but the chance existed. Lyon just wanted the miserable fool to stop his pathetic sounds of anguish. The more one pities oneself, the less time one has to actually face the problem.

“They’re all dead, Lyon!” cried Waldemar. “Gratia, Hanna, Heike, all dead.” His head fell into his hands. “I saw them, Lyon! All lined up. Their little forms, lined up like little sacks of grain.” He started to sob. Lyon always felt sorry for the man. Having only girls, three for that matter, was an insult to manhood. Now, disgust was all he could feel for the crying thing that tried to pass itself off as human. “I want them back!” he screamed. Lyon tackled the fool to the ground, covering Waldemar’s mouth with his hand.

“Be quiet, I say!” Lyon snarled. He looked between the slats to find a few men had their swords drawn were heading towards his refuge. Lyon looked upon the man beneath him. “You have doomed us both. I should kill you here.” Waldemar pleaded with his eyes, tears streaming from them. Lyon’s hand found its way to the other’s neck. “You brought our death upon us,” Lyon said tightening his hold upon the smaller man’s neck, his fingers turning white as blood rushed through his powerful forearms. Waldemar’s eyes bulged and futilely beat his hands against Lyon as the edge of his vision began to fade. Gritting his teeth, Lyon stared into the dying man’s eyes.

Suddenly, Waldemar’s face warped into a familiar face, stained with blood and dirt.

The face smiled crookedly up at Lyon whose hand still squeezed like an iron vice. His voice came out in a language only Lyon would know, “Just like the old times, eh, Tiger?” Piercing blue eyes look up at Lyon over his crooked smile, small chuckles escaping even through the stranglehold. Lyon jerked away, inhaling a sharp breath. The face began to laugh louder and louder until it was a deafening pitch. Blood poured from the laughing man’s eyes, nostrils, and mouth but the sound never faded.

“It wasn’t my fault!” screamed Lyon screwing his eyes and covering his ears. He roared, trying to drown the unbearable laughing to no avail. “It wasn’t my fault!” he roared again.

The laughing stopped.

Lyon opened his eyes to see a wheezing Waldemar clawing at his neck as cherished air rushed into his lungs. Two armor clad men were now throwing their shoulder against the door they had previously barricaded. Shaking his head, Lyon banished the thought of what had just happened for another time. Thinking quick, Lyon thought of only one way to escape.

“Come,” Lyon commanded, pulling the other to his feet. “We have to shatter the window and get out without killing ourselves.” The building they had taken refuge in had one window facing an alley: the resident had it installed, for quite a price, to try to catch their husband whenever he would sneak out to visit less than savory establishments. Instead of protecting the sanctity of marriage it would now protect Lyon and Waldemar’s life. However, glass often killed whoever was unlucky enough to break it.

Waldemar was able to understand his meaning but shook his head. His arms wrapped around himself and body slightly turned away from Lyon. Lyon motioned again, urgently. Waldemar did not even bother to shake his head as he sat down and began to weep as the door slid open with each ram of the soldiers outside. Lyon tried to hoist the man up only to be met with Waldemar’s dead weight.

“To your death you go then,” snarled Lyon. “This is not on my hands.” Lyon picked up a chair used in the barricade and jabbed at the glass, bouncing the chair’s leg off its surface. Surprised at its strength Lyon put tremendous strength behind the second blow, shattering the glass. The few seconds Lyon wasted was enough for the two soldiers to swing the door open enough for them to charge in, swords brandished.

For a few moments the trio stared at each other. Then, Lyon hurled the heavy, oaken chair at the soldiers and launched himself through the window, a hot pain rushing down his thigh. Rolling into a run in the alley, he whispered to himself, “Damn you, Waldemar.” Behind him, Waldemar’s sobs turned into screams. Pouring on the speed, Lyon ran through the burning city towards his own house. If Waldemar made it so that Lyon was too late to save Aleksandr he would kill the man, again, if the soldiers beat him to it.

So far, Lyon had not seen any bodies of his fellows. Screams he could hear, but the absence of bodies and blood gave him hope. A small chance still remained, a small hope. He ignored the harsh smoke clouding his vision. This town was not large, but the way was always blocked. Burning buildings created impassable sections while soldiers cut off the rest. Lyon’s only way through was across the central square. The soldiers came and went from there frequently, so Lyon would have to be extremely careful while trying to traverse it.

Only once did Lyon have a close call. The soldiers happened to be looking the other way when he barreled out of an alley to the one opposite. He would thank the gods later. Everything in Lyon’s mind was playing out in a perfectly worked plan. He would corner and kill a soldier to acquire his uniform and sword. If his family were barricaded inside their house, he would easily spirit them away; the soldiers being too battle crazed to dutifully check every back street. It would work. He could save his family and leave the violence behind him once again.

As he came closer to square where fresh vegetables and grains were once sold every Sunday, a pungent smell pervaded Lyon’s senses. It almost made him retch but he held back through years of attenuation. This acrid smell was all too familiar. Lyon’s face morphed into a teeth bearing snarl. Memories of exhaustion and misery permeated his every thought and his run slowed to a fast walk. He cleached and unclenched his fists while grinding his teeth and letting out small grunts. The source of the smell, smoke, and heat was in the center of the square.

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Lyon peered out of the alley into the inferno. Skin, muscle, and fat burned in an enormous pile of bodies. Heat emanated from the bonfire of corpses so fiercely it turned the cheeks scarlet in seconds and stole one’s breath away . All the people he ever knew were burning to a black crisp within the inferno’s hungry maw. Screaming faces stared at Lyon’s disbelieving eyes. Their eye sockets only filled with darkness despite the roaring flames. Every piece of hope, every spark of motivation, every burning wish was casually extinguished and a blackness consumed Lyon

Anger filled the abyss that remained. A smile spread across Lyon’s face and he let out a small chuckle. Without hesitation, Lyon stormed up to the first soldier in sight, quickly forcing his arms around his neck. The soldier tried to lash out, but Lyon’s strength and surprise gave him the upper-hand. Slowly, Lyon felt the life drain from the man in his clutches, his last twitches of life stopping as Lyon smiled ever larger. Conscious thought was lost as Lyon threw aside the unmoving man, running at another. A small scuffle ensued but Lyon was able to mount the soldier and close his hands around the other’s throat until a pop was felt under his hands. After the second man was snuffed out the other soldiers within the square started to notice the sounds of mortal combat. Lyon charged a third, disbelieving stares following him.

Lyon tackled the ironclad soldier, knocking the air out of him. A few vicious punches hit the man causing his head to smash against the ground and bounce back into Lyon’s waiting fist. Gurgling, the soldier fell limp. Instead of going after the man closest to him, Lyon kept smashing his now bleeding fists into the twitching man’s skull. Dull pain ebbed into his mind but Lyon ignored it, his fists would mend. No man came to help his fellow, instead choosing to look in horror as their comrade’s face was demolished to a pulpy redness.

The square stood in silence as Lyon arose, warm droplets falling from his mangled hands. Wide eyes stared upon the gore covered man. There was no way they could kill this embodiment of death. This was no man but an angel come to claim their souls.

Before Lyon could attack the next man they had regained their sense. Their swords were drawn and Lyon was encircled by the men. He gave them one last look of bitter defiance; he wouldn’t go down like the weaklings in this town.  He would kill these men or die trying.

A roar rumbled from his chest, bellowing out against the cold steel in the other men’s hands. He charged them as they yelled out their own cries of war, running towards this demon in human form. Lyon wailed and snarled, bashed and growled, sliced and roared as twelve men stumbled to stop an animal bred for war. Bones broke and swords were plunged into flesh. Eyes were ripped out as necks were bitten clean through. The last man started to run but Lyon pounced upon his back and splintered the man’s skull into the welcoming cobble. Twelve lifeless husks had tried their best to kill one, unarmed, smiling man. Lyon rolled off the body, still pumping blood through its ruined face.

Lyon’s chest quickly rose and fell while lying on the ground, a sword skewered through his innards. Warm blood blossomed from the wound as the rest of his body grew cold. He heard footsteps fill the square announcing the arrival of a larger force. Lyon, however, could not see them. He could only see the bodies of those he once loved, still smoldering in the square. The feet of the army surrounding him obscured the gruesome picture, but he saw past them to the horror.

The men who faced Lyon saw a different view. They saw twelve soldiers killed, beaten lifeless with a wild thing’s hands. They saw the thing lying there, fire still in its eyes, not daring to come any closer no matter how wounded the thing was. It was not until their commander approached did they muster the courage to check upon their men.

Something touched Lyon’s cheek as the bodies of those fallen around him were dragged away. He ignored it. He was dying, the worries of this physical place could wait just a little longer. Sharp pain lanced through his cheek. A grey blade drew back, its intent realized.

“Lyon,” called a gruff voice. “Lyon, make your ears work, I have little time for an old, dead soldier.” Slowly, Lyon was able to focus on the face the words spilled from. “Ah, there you are.” A smile spread across a familiar face, maybe even more horrible than the vision he had before. Black eyes stared down at the dying man, black hair enshrouding his face. “It’s been far too long, Lyon son of Ziigr.”

“Udivitel,” Lyon spat. “You have betrayed me? You? I saved you from certain doom. I saved you!” Lyon spat blood into the face of the smiling man.

Udivitel’s smile disappeared as he wiped away the insult. “Yes, you did.” He frowned deeply. “You had a great fire in you,” he looked around, “and still do. Now everyone in this town shares the fire you epitomize.” The cruel smile returned. Udivitel looked at the bloodbath Lyon concocted. “Those were men trained in the highest caliber. You ended their life as easily as blowing out a candle.” Looking up into the sky Udivitel chuckled. “Do you remember the day when-”

“Why!?” Lyon screamed. “Why did you do this? What evil has pervaded your being? We were comrades!”

Udivitel kneeled down and took Lyon’s mane in one hand. “You think it easy? To kill the innocent when our emperor orders it? No, you betrayed the trust that was given to you. You betrayed us all. Instead of doing this,” he swept his hand across the burning town, “you decided you knew what the best course of action to take for our country was. Your luxurious life had weakened you, made you into the profligate son of a whore you are.” Udivitel smacked Lyon across the face with his free hand.

Face stinging, Lyon asked, “The time at the academy meant nothing, old friend?” Lyon already knew the answer.

“No more than it means to kill your wife right here.” Udivitel motioned towards a group of soldiers who hurriedly brought forth a woman. She was slim but athletic and her face had all the signs of eastern nobility: high cheekbones, full lips, and a thin nose. If she was not covered in soot and dirt her skin would be fair and flawless. “Oh beautiful Galya, your face has not aged a day. How it was always my wish to feel your lips with mine.” Udivitel grabbed her hair, forcing a yelp out of her before he violently forced her face to his.

“Galya!” yelled Lyon, coughing blood. She opened her eyes to see her husband sprawled upon the ground, scarlet rushing from his wound.

Udivitel pulled back. “Lyon!” was all Galya was able to say as cold steel flashed across her neck. She gasped in shock, inhaling blood, and fell to the ground. Useless fingers clawed at her neck while her eyes stared into Lyon’s. She finally stopped trying to breath her own blood and the lights dimmed from her eyes.

An anguish so deep enveloped Lyon it almost swallowed him. It purged what was driving him, devouring every bit of reserve he had to lash out at these people. His hot, unfathomable anger, quenched. “Unforgivable.” Tears poured from his eyes. “Unforgivable,” he said again between sobs.

Udivitel wiped the blood from dagger, his face now grave. “Yes Lyon, what I have done is unforgivable. Remember, though, it was not I who could have stopped the death of Hu.” No words were able to leave Lyon’s broken heart besides unforgivable. “It seems I may have broken him. Bring me his daughter, then.” Another group of soldiers brought forth a girl, just twelve seasons old. She was crying, her face marred by cuts and spots of dirt. “Will you do nothing as I rip open her throat as well?” He gently caressed the recess underneath her chin.

Lyon looked sharply at his comrade. “Do not, Udivitel. If there is any humanity left within you, do not do this!” Udivitel breathed in deeply. “I beg you! I beg this one thing of you, Udivitel.” He sighed. “You have punished us enough.”

Exploding, Udivitel roared. “Punished? You have not been punished enough!” He put the knife up to the girl’s throat.

“Do not!”

The knife ceased its journey. Only a small rivulet of blood ran down the crying girl’s throat. “Maybe you are right. I will not kill her.” He sheathed the knife. “Raven, she’s yours now.” A man, with a hungry smile took the small girl away. “This shall be your punishment, deserter.” Udivitel smiled fully, looking down at the broken man. “You can watch.” He considered for a moment. “It is a horrible scene to witness, however. I should lessen some of the burden.” Udivitel's knife moved swiftly. Screams of Lyon and his daughter filled the night.