Azeal flicked the swines guard away; dismissing him as a king would in his throne room. He watched as the man, bleeding from the points of his crucifixion, crashed onto the onlookers. Cries of fear and horror sounded out from all who witnessed it. Only those with dark hearts stared with cold eyes, gleaming in recognition and danger before a being far more capable than they.

The onlookers were filled with those who thought themselves entitled to what they deserved not. Wealthy merchants filled with evil from the slavery they practiced. And then those who were killers. Who thought naught of the value of life.

Most finding the blood repulsive, ran as they looked for a way out of the darkness that had covered them. Azeal watched as they scurried to the borders of the dome; ants beneath his feet. Hoping to find a way out into the salvation they believed to be on the outside; in the bright glow of the sun. They knew not of what darkness was. Of how before the light ever existed, the night was always there. Watching and waiting, hiding and lurking within its own shadows.

There struggle for freedom and self-preservation above all else made them seem akin to animals than people. The strong shoving the weak, the young pushing the old, and the men using the women as shields. But, he could not care for their ruckus, or the stampede they may cause. All it would take was a flick of his finger, and these lower life forms would be forever gone. Forgotten in the sands of time. For only the mighty and the crazed are remembered; never the righteous and the simple.

Slowly, the earthen pillar, he had created as a pedestal for his might, moved downwards into the embrace of the lands. With it came Azeal, as he finally took a step on the ground, preparing to get rid of those who would challenge him. He was the judge of their existence, the jury that decides their fate, and the executioner that metes out his punishment. Those who would be lacking in emotional scape shall meet their end today; for only the most beautiful shall survive his culling.

The hatred that had spread into this city, caused by the slavers and evil men aplenty, shall be cleansed by his righteous genocide. In it, a land filled with only the purest will rise from the ocean of ashes and rivers of blood from those fallen. And in the survivors will be worship for he; the carrier of Blind Emotion.

Azeal raised his hands to the heavens to call upon its gift to the world, Mana. Answering his call, a visible effect occurred. It was as though the wind stopped to blow, and silence, in the city of Thols, reigned supreme. All stood to witness the unusual scene. With a sudden jerk, everything began anew. The wind blew once again, and the merchant’s cries heard once more. All the while, the mana was all funneled to him as though they were cattle being led by a herder. It all gathered in between his raised hands, its viscosity visible to the untrained eye.

Shock in those that watched was apparent, a massive gathering of mana only had one meaning to the citizens of this city. Death was coming, and it would be unbiased in its reckoning. The mana, held up by Azeal’s command, began to morph. Changing into what he saw. Molding it into his image; Darkness and Fire.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

But, as he prepared it in the final stages, a soft body crashed into his. Though it had no effect on him, its momentum lacking, it attracted his attention for a split second. Who would dare challenge him? Was his demonstration lacking in voice? Did he need to make it any more apparent? Looking down, his eyes widened. There he found the one he had forgotten. The one he deemed worthy of protecting. In their eyes, was what shook Azeal to his core. A quiet demand resounding beyond any words could have spoken.

A judgment he could not withstand. Innocent eyes, filled with determination, stared back into his blazing red. Speaking its thoughts without a filter. A spike of pain caught him off guard. And his mind began to clear. What was he doing? Was he really about to kill all those people? How could he have rationalized it? This was wrong! He would have killed everyone including his family.

Greater pain hit him all of a sudden, his mind tearing into itself. He let go of the mana that had gathered above him. It shot into the sky far above the city. While Azeal fell heavily to his knees, his hands grabbing the scarf that had covered his face. Exposing his helm to the world; intricate in design.

BOOM!

A massive concussive force hit everyone near the epicenter of the blast, so far in the sky. Blowing those of normal upbringing onto their knees. A king's power was released into the word, and it demanded that all must kneel.

But, Azeal was on a world to himself. He gritted his teeth as the pain grew the longer it lasted. Eventually, it became more than he could handle; screaming with a tortured voice. The pain rippled within his mind. Though it came with pulses from its physical manifestation, the pain was greater within his soul. It tore at it without restraint. Trying to break free from inside of him.

It was the first time since he was in the absolute void; in the empty darkness, he met the goddess. With a tearing sound, flashes of memories passed once again. Of the ones he loved, faces blurry and names beyond the reach of his mind. Of those, some he had lost long ago. A lover dying in his hands, giving birth to the soul of his heart. The grief added to his pain, and with a sudden boom, a name was given. It all becoming twice the fold it had been; all the pain and suffering doubling.

The name tore from his mouth as he screamed it to the world. Telling its tale so the wind might carry it far and wide.

“Reinala!”

Unable to take any more, his hulking body slowly fell downwards as a tiny girl attempted to hold him up. The last thing he saw before the darkness, he was so familiar with, overtook him was Harold and Roland forcing their way past the stampede that ran away from him.