He walked down the street, armoured boots clanking on the stone road. The Vevalon Kingdom was rather nice, all things considered. It had a thriving economy, lovely locals, and farmland that could feed the region for generations.

Until He had burned it all.

It wasn’t anything personal—He rather liked this place. It was dispassionate violence. A necessity to achieve His one goal.

Nothing else mattered.

Adults crumpled to the ground at His feet, bodies twisted into a sick effigy with a single flare of magic. Children wailed for their lost family before they too were silenced—their heads pulled from their bodies. He ensured He was slow and methodical so that the children’s spines would slide from the meat of their corpse like snakes and dangle from the head in His grasp.

It didn’t bring Him any pleasure in doing this—fear and despair made the magic easier.

Having the severed heads of children slithering along on their animated spines served to unnerve the kingdom’s magic users. They couldn’t fend against Him when they were too busy screaming in horror at their young lunging at them like feral serpents.

So too did the magic users fall, some strangled to death by their own children’s spines squeezing around their throats while the young faces tore away at the flesh of their parents. Despite the gruesome sight, He felt nothing—He just needed to get rid of the evidence.

The resulting inferno scorched half of the city, incinerating the wooden structures. Flesh melted off bone and the rock beneath His feet bubbled.

He marched toward the castle.

The townspeople had the good sense to run; He didn’t blame them. Unfortunately for them, the Direwolves that prowled around the city's outskirts weren’t merciful.

He kicked in the massive steel doors, shearing the dozen wood pillars that kept them locked. Guards rushed Him, as was their job. He didn’t blame them for it; He admired their courage in the face of Death.

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He clenched His hand.

The guards approaching Him imploded, their bodies warped into a ball no larger than his fist. Their armour acted as a container for their entrails and prevented the floor from dirtying. He flicked His wrist and the metal hurtled out of the doors into the Hellfire that raged outside.

“Please, you don’t have to do this! Spare my people!” The King cried.

The King was right. He didn’t have to. But He needed to. It was necessary for His one goal, and He would accomplish it at any cost.

He tilted His head to the side, and the King’s head spun around in a tight circle, a sickening crack sounding out. The King’s eyes rolled wildly in his head, the last remains of consciousness struggling to comprehend that he was already dead.

The crown was plucked away, and He placed a hand on the King’s head.

A gust of wind swept through, clearing out the ashes that formed at His fingertips. All that remained was the crown, and the purple cloak laying on the ground.

He picked up the cloak and began His walk back through the city. Direwolves feasted on the people who tried to hide, and the Hellfire licked up what remained. A wave of His hand caused the inferno to go out like a candle.

He entered the woods and found a small child lying on the back of a white direwolf, clinging to its fur. She looked tired, as always, but perked up when she saw Him.

“Come with me. I have a surprise.” He settled the cloak over her head. “No peeking.”

The three moved through the remains of the shattered kingdom. A gust of wind blew in, guiding out the smell of blood and char, replacing it with clean forest air.

They walked up the steps into the castle; the massive steel doors closed behind Him. He picked her up, set her on the throne, and pulled off the cloak.

She looked around in confusion, then her face lit up when she was presented with the crown.

“You are now a real princess, just like you wanted, my Angel.”

She clutched at the crown desperately and her eyes watered.

“I’m a real princess?” She breathed.

He nodded. Her wish was granted.

“I knew you could do anything, Daddy,” she whispered, her smile wide.

He could do anything.

Except cure her cancer. She wouldn’t last a week longer.

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, my Angel.”

She’d never know how she got her wish.