By: Max T.
Thunder rumbled, but the shrieks of the people drowned it out. A small house on the outskirts still lies untouched. Within are eight people, each dressed in the same lightweight orange robe. Another, older man enters the room, a long, bloody cut running down his face. He looks terrified, as though he has seen a ghost.
“This wasn’t supposed to happen!” He screams. It is a terrible scream, as though the man is in some great pain. He sobs, and collapses into a chair.
The youngest man in the group stands. He looks grim, and this is added to by the black eye that circles a good part of his face. “This” he says, “Is what happens when we try to play god.” He spits onto the floor, which is covered in a clear slime.
Another man stands, and this one is pale, like a skull under a spotlight. “Elementia is doomed because of our foolish sins.” He says, quietly, and sinks back down. He makes a gesture toward himself that borders on self-loathing, or pity. “And we, the last fire wizards, will pay with the wiping out of the flame sorcery.” He muttered.
The elder, upon hearing this, jumped from his chair with a yell. “No!” He said, pounding the small table in the center of the room. “We will not be wiped out like dogs! I refuse to accept that the grand fire sorcerers of Elementia will be destroyed!” He roared a terrible fury upon his face. Suddenly, a calm expression comes over his face. His eyes widen as something occurs to him. “But of course…” he murmurs. Without looking, a thoughtful expression on his face, he pulls a ring from his pocket and sets it on the table.
One of the men jumps up, furious. “You old fool! I will not consent to putting the entire fire wizard fate into a ring! Our powers should not fall into the wrong hands!” He says angrily, storming up to the elderly man until their noses are inches apart.
“Who says that the ring would fall into the wrong hands, Emfayo?” The man says calmly. But the voice has a note of urgency in it. The shrieking and screaming are getting louder. The man named Emfayo listens to the ghastly noises, and turns. He looks less angry now.
“Fine. Let’s—“The door slams open. A man steps in. He is tall, extremely so. His face is tan, but his eyes are what draw the attention. They are snakes eyes. He walks toward the elder, his gaze never wavering from the old man’s fiery red eyes.
“You will not leave here alive, and your innards will be scattered to the breeze.” The snake man wheezes, and walks forward with a clicking noise emanating from his feet.
An expression crosses the old man’s face. It is so fleeting we wonder whether we mistook it for being there at all. He turns to the rest of them, and screams. “You no longer have a choice! The fire wizards will survive!” And he presses down on the ring.
The house is lit up with the glow of flame.