Like the times before, the streets are deranged and all looking like raving battlefields but with fear instead of animalistic rage. Flesh scatters and flees rather than clashing in that age old brutality.
People scream. They cry. They pray to the gods. They shake in hysterics. They caress their loved ones. Something I can never do again.
And I want to help them, the elderly, the ones with children, to get to their bunkers and it hurts not to do so.
I see lawmen, more of the king's guards heading back to the palace. They're too busy to see me in the sea of mayhem so there's no need to stick to the shadows. Even so, I keep my eyes peeled as I limp with speed, my gaze only lifting to see more wooden dragons crossing the southern wall and flaming above the city, watching many until they strike with ferocity.
Again, I can feel their searing heat and spy the crazed suicide riders crowing in ecstasy, reminding me of my cackling tormentor.
I'm sure he's following me and it would be so easy for the demon to rid this world of me without being noticed, but for some reason I don't look over my shoulders. I don't try to spy him.
Maybe I want him to sneak up behind me. Maybe I want him to attack me again. At least I'd have a chance to finally finish him off, ending my nightmare and to get revenge, to fulfill the promise that I made to many.
All of a sudden, a wooden dragon screeches above my head, its roaring flames burning white, before it smashes into a roof. Shingles crash around me, flickers of embering ash raining down with them.
It's then that more cinders invade my senses. It encircles me. It swirls. It gales. It meanders. It crawls.
It's as if King Jabora has unleashed the entire underworld on us, the fiery pit, the hellwind. But I can feel his fury is not done. Tonight feels different. But it doesn't deter me from my goal of seeking refuge.
Down an engulfed street, the debris from a flying monster scattered around my feet, the walls of fire on either side make my face burn, sweat and raw to the touch. Vigils rush by, grit spilling from their buckets. I recognize some of them, one once being a servant of Lorma and Seamil.
I wonder how the commander and the lordess are doing.
I turn towards the southern wall again but I can't see through the grey speckled and flashing clouds.
I'm sure Seamil and his soldiers are giving the enemy their all. And for a brief moment, through all the noise, I'm positive I hear a thundering twang from a javelin.
I hope it takes out many.
On and on I continue, the fires in the city increasing in number and size with entire neighborhoods reducing to rubble right before my eyes. Buildings yaw and buckle, sending more filth into the sky. And I'm hoping to see my men, just to see a glimmer of familiarity, but I don't.
My destination takes me through more carnage and I begin to see bodies pile up, the torched remains of residents that weren't quick enough to escape the wooden dragons yet able to writhe free from their engulfed homes. Several dozen of them I see, all sprawled on the cobblestones, the odour of their cooked flesh mingling with the air's acrid stench.
It's around a corner, and not far now from my elixirman's residence – and which I hope can still give me refuge – when the sky erupts with blaring whistles and screeches. The terrifying noise gets louder, making me stop, until it feels like my head is being stabbed with a thousand needles.
What the fuck is that, I say to myself, before seeing flashing streaks rain down through the murk as if the stars were falling. I then soon realize what they are, for ear-splitting explosions begin to make the ground beneath violently quake and hastening more buildings to collapse.
Immediately, a blinding light washes over me from above and a moment later I feel as if a hundred giant warhorses have plowed through every inch of my body. I don't grasp or care where the exploding projectile hits but it lifts me off my feet, whipping my head back. And as I tumble through the air, slamming into other airborne lives, my heart retches at the exertion. I don't know how high the force takes me but it quickly releases its grip and I crash to the ground, landing hard on my bad leg.
My yells and curses are drowned out by more explosions. It feels like the world is about to break apart and descend into the abyss. More shit fills the air but the glow from the everlasting advance of wooden dragons is still visible.
But then, as if the gods had abruptly vanquished them from reality, the explosions cease. I hear no more incoming projectiles either. No whistles or screeches. But there are screams, the choir of fear and agony getting louder with every moment, with every inhale and exhale of my breath. And all around I can see the injured lying with me, arms and limbs tangled together.
Freeing myself, I hobble to my feet and try to find a path through the rug of weaved bodies. But there is none.
'Up you get,' I say to everyone in between me and my goal, grabbing an arm and pulling no matter if injured or not. And half fall back down but others plant their legs and stand with me. And I tell them, I scream to them, 'Get to a bunker. Get to safety. Do it now.'
I don't know how many people I raise but I eventually find myself turning a corner, it opening out onto the street where my elixirman lives.
I know that his home being untouched would be a miracle now but relative surprise awaits. There are no fires but there is damage, all the buildings on the street ravaged and disemboweled.
I cross my brows at the scene and determine that the culprit of this destruction was not tonight's attack. It's been like this for ages as I can see vegetation growing within the dwellings. Saplings, grasses, brambles and vines.
Why didn't my elixirman tell me his home had been destroyed? How very odd. But come to think of it, we never talked about his life. Just mine. And I'm sure I won't find him here, but his home, as I recall, does have a cellar.
I'm sure he told me that. He must have or how would I know. Despite him intruding on my abode countless times, not once have I entered his.
I limp over.
His home is bigger than mine. It's slim but four stories high, its roof caved in. The front door has long since gone and as I step inside, the sound of more whistles and screeches reverberate above me.
Fuck. Another bombardment is coming. Another hail of fury.
I shuffle through the musty entrance hall, crossing over splintered floorboards and past the remnants of a winding staircase. And as the first explosion erupts off in the distance, I stagger down a corridor, its walls of exposed brick crumbled and littering the floor.
I wade through the debris, each step a toil for my leg, until I reach the kitchen at the end. Then entering with a stumble, more explosions erupt in my ears, each one seemingly getting closer and closer.
Skirting around a decaying, overturned table, I make my way to the other side, where a door stands, albeit crooked and off its top hinge. I grab its handle and pull, revealing a long set of stairs leading down into the darkness.
Strange. Being that I've never stepped foot inside my elixirman's home, how did I know where to go, where the cellar was?
I don't trust my leg or my senses to descend safely in the pitch black. Falling down stairs is not how I want it to end for me.
I need a light.
Closed cabinets still dot the kitchen and I don't hesitate to search for one. Not surprising, there are many bottles and vials stored away. To me and my leg's dismay, they're all empty. But I do find a candle and a tinderbox tucked behind a set of plates.
After lighting the wick, I trudge back over to the door to the cellar before making my way down. I only take a few steps before the ground starts to shake from more explosions too close for comfort.
I may end up falling to my death regardless of a light.
Hobbling off the last step brings me some relief. As I lift up the candle, I look around the cool room. There's nothing, the place bare. And I see no damage unlike the rest of the home.
It is a cellar after all.
Yet there is something.
My gaze wanders to the back wall. It's not like the other three. It's not made of stone but brick. And I can't take my eyes off of it. It draws me. Like a secret that I cannot rid.
It draws me so much that I feel myself gliding over. But I don't get far, for a rolling boom cascades down the cellar's stairs. Everywhere violently shudders and dust torrents down from the ceiling.
I barely have time to realize how close the explosion was when another comes.
The walls begin heaving to-and-fro, the bricks at the back shaking more so. Their mortar cracks and pops, each one becoming loose until my senses flood with an even bigger blast.
The new eruption throws me to the ground and the cellar goes dark. But I quickly fumble to rekindle the candle. And when I do, I see the brick wall has completely collapsed, revealing a hidden area, the walls of which are of the stone that the rest of the cellar is made of.
Although it still draws me, it doesn't attract my suspicion. That is until I see a glint of blue fabric peering out from behind the mound of ruins.
I squint.
I know that colour.
Tremors continue as I crawl back up to my feet. And with every forward step I take, the blue fabric grows. It lengthens and widens until it morphs into a cloak.
I know that cloak. It's my elixirman's.
What's it doing there?
I tumble over the rubbled bricks, grab the garment and lift it, ready to inspect, but I uncover something that makes me cower back and gasp in surprise.
It's a skeleton, its arm and leg bones tucked into one another as if it was just thrown inside and forgotten.
Surely it can't be. It can't be my elixirman. I just saw him the other day. A body does not decompose to bone with such haste. And who would do such a thing?
Could it be my tormentor?
My eyes then catch something else, something underneath the skull.
With a heave, I move it out of the way as if it was a fiery log, giving way to a white scarf blotched with blood stains.
I know this scarf too.
But how?
I feel a tear starting to fall as I bring the scarf to my face. And there's a smell. It smells of her, of her perfume.
She was wearing the scarf the day she was murdered. How did it end up here? Why did it end up here?
Confusion thunders through me as the sounds from above grow in every manner, it feeling as if the city is getting flattened over and over again.
I don't understand. What is the meaning of all of this?
Then swiftly, I hear the soft and slow thuds of boots coming down from the kitchen. I whip my head, lifting up the candle to expose the bottom of the stairs.
'Who goes there?' I yell weakly.
But whoever it is, they don't answer and I just stare as boots slowly descend into the candle's light.
My tormentor has come to face me again it seems.
Eager, I lift the candle higher, as far as my arm can take it.
A blood stained shirt I see. Then comes a face. A face of guilt and pity.