He held up the lifeless head by its smouldering hair, fresh blood pouring out of the cleanly cut neck stump, curdling as it fell to his feet.

It was done. He had lost control for a second, but it was done.

Fire raged around him, crackling furiously, trying to warn him about the danger it carried. As the rain continued to fall through the breached bunker ceiling, laying it bare to the town that was at its mercy for so long, putting up a feeble attempt to quench the inferno. The scent of devastation lingered—a nauseating blend of melting flesh and stone, and boiling blood.

His eyes remained fixed on the charred remains of the man who had inflicted so much pain upon him. The once menacing face was now obscured by burnt skin that formed the imprint of a hand. He let go of the severed head, watching it plummet to the ground, to rest with its body. Its shredded clothing revealed a chest adorned with scars reminiscent of lightning strikes. Limbs were missing, blood trickling from the remnants of muscles and nerves clinging desperately onto the ripped-apart shoulders and knees.

His mind played back the moment he had fulfilled his revenge, trying to get him to relish the sensation, but his mind was stuck to the moments that preceded it, when he had carved through the horde of people standing in his way. The storm above mirrored the turmoil within him, a turbulent clash of regret, sorrow, and the bitter taste of revenge fulfilled. But unlike the storm, it ceased with a simple thought. He was tired.

Ready to stop fighting?

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The voice within him asked, and he answered by raising his sword, the blood-soaked blade pointing backwards till it hovered above his heart.

Do it, you coward, release me from this prison.

The voice screamed out. And for once he was happy to comply.

Yet, the sound of shifting rubble interrupted the moment. There was still someone alive. Unacceptable. Alexander posed his sword upright and advanced toward the source, tendrils of shadows lifting the debris from his path. The sound came again, enough for him to pinpoint the source, and the rage that had guided him this far found some kindling in himself to blaze again. The shadows went to work, destroying and sweeping aside any rubble in his way, till he was standing above a rock blocking a trapdoor from opening up. An escape tunnel. Lightning hummed through his blade as a hand made of umbra removed it.

The trapdoor swung upwards, smoke blocking his view of the coughing figure that stumbled out. He pointed the tip towards its head, about to stab it, when the smoke cleared. He stopped, the sight sending a shock that paralysed him.

It was a girl, no older than fifteen, an outlandish sight in the den of criminals. His mind tried to make up excuses why she would be there, none of them were good. She was injured, quite heavily, the cuts and bruises on her soot-covered skin were old, but a piece of wood had embedded itself in her stomach.

“Please…” Her voice trembled as she spat and coughed out blood whilst she stammered, “There are more… my brother… and the rest…” Each word seemed to tear at her fragile frame.

In that moment, he did not know why, and would never know why, but something in Alexander’s tired sinking mind overwhelmed the rest. “Where?”