The grove stood in ruins, its once-vibrant trees twisted into blackened skeletons, the air thick with heat and the acrid scent of scorched earth. The ash-covered remnants of the Tree of Betrayal lay partially submerged in the cooling magma, faint traces of oak and acacia barely discernible beneath the charred wreckage. The mingled remnants of Faust and Faouzia were no longer recognizable, their punishment reduced to scattered cinders.
Nearby, Kimaris stood tall once more, its striped, muscular body fully healed. The copper barding that had been warped in the battle gleamed anew, its sheen unmarred by the destruction around it. Its wings stretched wide, their membranous surface pristine as it surveyed the aftermath of its rampage. The ground beneath its hooves smoldered, fissures glowing faintly as heat radiated from its form.
The stillness was shattered by a single voice.
“You killed them.”
The words carried through the grove, quiet yet razor-sharp. The oppressive air seemed to press harder as Mephistopheles emerged from the shadows. His presence was an unrelenting weight, his copper-red hair catching the faint glow of the magma. His face was expressionless, but his fiery eyes burned with a fury that made the very air quiver.
Kimaris turned toward him, its glowing, alien gaze unflinching. “They were weak,” it rumbled, its voice deep and resonant, with a hint of defiance. “They could not withstand me. You knew this when you ordered me to torment them.”
“I ordered you to torment them,” Mephistopheles said, his tone cold and deliberate, “not to destroy them.”
Kimaris’ nostrils flared, and it stamped a hoof, the ground trembling under its weight. “They were beyond torment, Master. They broke too easily. I did what was necessary to show your power.”
Mephistopheles stopped a few paces away, his eyes narrowing. “Necessary?” His voice dropped to a dangerous low, each word laced with venom. “Do you think yourself capable of deciding what is necessary?”
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Kimaris hesitated but did not lower its head. “They were insignificant,” it said, its tone neutral but firm. “You have no need for such fragile remnants.”
Mephistopheles’ lips curled into a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Insignificant,” he echoed, his voice eerily calm. “Those ‘remnants’ were my last ties to Margaretta. They were a living monument to my loss, my wrath, and my love. And you dared to take them from me.”
Kimaris stiffened, but its confidence remained unshaken. “They were weak,” it repeated, as if the words justified its actions. “You can create stronger monuments.”
For a moment, silence reigned. Then Mephistopheles raised his hand, his fingers curling into a fist. “Stronger?” he said softly. “Allow me to show you the strength of my monuments.”
The copper barding on Kimaris’ body began to glow, faintly at first, then blindingly bright. The beast flinched, its muscles tensing as the heat intensified, but it refused to bow. Its wings flared, and it let out a defiant roar.
“You think this will harm me?” Kimaris bellowed, stepping forward. “I regenerate. I endure.”
Mephistopheles’ smile widened, cruel and unwavering. “Endure, then.”
The heat surged, and the barding fused deeper into Kimaris’ flesh, its edges twisting and curling into grotesque spikes. The beast reared back, its defiance faltering as pain began to radiate through its massive frame. The glowing metal crept across its body like vines, constricting and embedding into its flesh.
Kimaris screamed, its earlier confidence giving way to agony as the barding encased its form. It struggled, its powerful wings beating frantically, but the infernal restraints tightened further, forcing it to the ground. The once-proud beast thrashed, its hooves striking the scorched earth with enough force to send tremors through the grove, but it could not break free.
Mephistopheles stepped closer, his gaze fixed on the writhing form. “You regenerated,” he said, his voice devoid of mercy. “But regeneration is meaningless when there is nothing left to restore.”
With a final gesture, the copper encasement consumed Kimaris entirely, leaving only a rigid, statuesque form in its place. The beast’s wings were frozen mid-flare, its mouth locked open in a soundless roar. For a moment, the metal structure glowed red-hot, then cooled to a dark, lifeless hue.
Mephistopheles stood over the remains, his fiery eyes reflecting the twisted sculpture. His expression was unreadable as he turned his attention to the ashen remnants of the Tree of Betrayal. Kneeling, he traced a hand through the fragile dust, watching it scatter at his touch.
“You were fools,” he murmured, his voice low and heavy. “Fools who thought you could rewrite the laws of love and power. And now, even your suffering is stolen from me.”
He lingered, his hand hovering over the ash, as though waiting for some sign or echo of the lives lost. But none came. With a final glance at Kimaris’ petrified form, Mephistopheles straightened and turned away.
Without a word, he vanished, his departure leaving only silence and the lingering heat of his wrath. The grove stood empty of life, haunted by the echoes of destruction and a grief that could never be undone.