Amber sighs softly, a long exhale to release tension built by the raging magic. Lifting a city without her staff, much less relocating immediately? And only now, she breaks sweat.

This witch is... something else. Outclassing Merlin’s ability, making him look like a rough joke. And from what I’ve heard, there’s someone ABOVE her in sheer, unshakable will.

Before I can delve into my thoughts, “it” moves my body. Catching arrows just short of Amber’s heart, snapping the enchanted obsidian frames like twigs. All she does is smirk.

“Shut up you damn munchkin...” I roll my eyes. She laughs at that, putting her hat back in motion of strolling away. Looking down at them, these rebels are a bit outraged. Heh.

“Alright, Alright. Since you’ve been so well behaved, go and have your fun. I close my eyes, shifting out of my body into the perceptive of a viewer. Similar to a spirit watching.

But no matter how many times I see it, that unnaturally crooked smile makes my stomach crawl. Within seconds, lower streets are bathed in misty glow. They look around. Petty.

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Cold steam traces their outline, crawling in like corpses of their fallen. Illusion feats beyond my understanding show their loved memories, now torn to shreds, as if simple paper.

I can hear their screams, seeing my own silhouette ripping bloodily into their skulls with mandibles peering from my own throat. Sticky and white, the albino monstrosity within.

Despite this, I have no fear. No remorse. This is just the way it is. Not one of faith, like the priests may have you believe. Not one of nightmare, as many stories would tell falsely.

This is my reality. Stuck with “it” inside me, by my own stupidity. Nothing left to fear. Nothing left to lose. It just takes bliss in carnage. Death. Drinking blood like a sweet treat.

But nevertheless, it behaves. Only targets those I choose unworthy of life. Do not mistake me for a god, for I am but a mortal soul. Only I use my power in the way it should be.

I use it to save lives. I use it to save nature. I use it to preserve near history, myself nothing more than a vessel of intelligence. I am a living book with thousands of stories to tell.

Upon completion, my person is pulled back to it’s place. The dirty deeds have been done, in name of our own faith. One of passion. One of preservation. Would you believe me?