"Get her! Ignorant bitch! Looking down on us!"
"She doesn't understand our pain, our suffering!"
"Rip her to shreds! Make her know~!"
"Burn her! Burn her!"
"Only when she knows true pain will she wish for his blood! Show her! Show her how great our Savior is!"
"How dare you reject me~! Look~ Princess~! I'm healthy now! My skin is healed! Look at me, Princess!"
What was fake? And what was genuine? Was it the cowering demeanors? Or was it this mad hostility toward her? Maybe there wasn't any truth to begin with. Only different lies made by the same people, one where they were bound by societal norms and customs, the other where their minds were shackled by some self-proclaimed Savior.
But no matter what, the truth remained the same—They were weak. Weak to protect their own truth. Weak to stand tall in defiance against others. Their backs were bent by the hands of those above. Their heads were lowered to the ground for so long that their eyes had grown accustomed to the mud—its texture, its weight, its silence. The beautiful sky became something they knew only from memory. Sometimes, a sudden gust would sweep through, brushing against their cheeks like a whisper from a world they'd forgotten. _Look up,_ it said. But how could they? When lifting their gaze meant remembering that they didn't have wings.
Alea tilted her head upward. She wanted to look far into the blue canvas above, but the smoke was thick and heavy. Birds that were stupid enough to fly into the ash blanket struggled to get out of its grasp. The added weight caused their wings to become heavy; they flapped and twisted as if doing so could dust them. But their struggle was short-lived, before they even knew it, the lack of oxygen had already killed them, and gravity plucked them down, wings hugging together—A final embrace. A desperate attempt to cushion the fall.
But none paid the poor little birds any attention; their sole focus was on Alea, locking their crazed gaze on her slender figure, and the white underbelly revealed itself briefly with every gust of wind.
"She's trying to run away." The burning man sneered as he got back up on two legs. As he continued to run toward Alea, he used his right hand to tear the other clean off. Then, as the flame danced upon his severed limb, he whispered something into it.
The way he spoke to the flame was different from how he did with others. Soft and gentle. As if fearing he could hurt the flame if his voice was raised too loud. "Please, Savior. I need you. We need you. Please burn brightly for our sake."
With every prayer, more blood started to pour out of his hand, and the flame became even brighter. His severed flesh couldn't handle the heat anymore and was slowly melting away. But just before it could fuse with his intact hand, the burning man threw the latter back far behind his back. With all his might, he shoved it forward, launching the served hand flying toward Alea.
Meanwhile, winds were embracing Alea, they cling onto her. They grabbed, no, held her softly, lifting her feet off the ground. As the bright light flew toward her, it caused a great commotion in the approaching madmen.
"Savior! Savior!"
"Our Savoir! So brilliant!"
"Fool! Bowl! Bowl! Hurry!"
They had completely forgotten about Alea, bowing their head deeply as the painful heat of the brilliantly golden light shone upon them. Alea was now hovering a great distance from the ground. She looked down at them. Her eyes squinted slightly, not because of the annoying bright light coming toward her but because of the disdain she held for them. Even when their mind had lost themselves in the haze of madness, their nature remained true—A bunch of spineless cowards.
Unlike the burning man, who had accepted the fire wholeheartedly, these people have chosen to consume the blood, not out of greed for its power or for immortality, but due to their being unable to handle the pain of being burned. They were bowing to the ball of golden crimson, but their hands were shaking, their belly sought more of the ground's touch. Perhaps, instinct was something far more mysterious and powerful than the mind gave it credit for.
As the fierce molten flesh flew across the air, droplets of liquified flesh and bone splashed against the ground, hitting the ashen surface with a soft patter, like fingertips tapping on hollow wood.
The air around her became even denser, acting as a shield to protect Alea against the assaulting heat. But she knew that it wasn't enough. The low-level wind spirits, despite not having consciousness, were showing signs of hesitation, almost as if they were reluctant to come in contact with the frenzied flame. And Alea knew the reason why that was the case.
Her gaze lowered even more as she curled in on herself. Cupping her hands together, she focused her eyes on the movement of the wind spirits, the green thin lines were coming from every direction, they condensed onto the inside of her palms as Alea twirled her fingers, guiding their path.
Once inside of her paws, they twisted and turned, picking up speed with every second, not stopping even when there was an eye of the storm contained within. The heat had broken through the defense; it surged upward, aiming for Alea.
Since the air was flowing toward Alea's hands, the ball of flame was like a fish swimming downstream, picking up speed as the wind fanned it stronger. She could feel her sweater dampened as her body tried to fight against the burning heat. But Alea was calm.
Just before the flame could catch Alea in its grasp and swallow her whole, she slapped her hands together. A shockwave boomed. It hit every crazed person, including the burning man, sending them stumbling backward onto the ground.
Because it was closest to Alea, the burning man's severed hand was hit with the full force of the impact from the shockwave, turning it into paste upon coming into contact with the ground. Golden flames flickered and swayed as they clawed up, baring their claws toward the descending Alea.
Agonizing screams and laughter were muffled out by Alea's air bubble as the crazed couldn't immediately get back up—wind blades had cut deep into their flesh, leaving behind deep gashes where burning blood was pouring out. But Alea knew it wouldn't be long until the blood started to mend the crazed back up. She didn't waste another moment. As she flew down, she threw both hands at the figures tumbling about on the floor.
Gushes of wind flew out from her palms, and they fell on those below like rushing water from a pouring river. Alea wanted to crush them all. But doing so wouldn't stop them from getting back up; she had seen it first-hand, the burning man who had walked off being crushed like nothing. Spending more mana to increase the strength of the wind spirits would be a waste. Corksi was getting sleepier with every ounce of mana she exerted from the spirit's reserve. No, she needed to make sure they couldn't get back up. But how do you kill an immortal?
"Fool… you should… have used the… chance to run away…!" The burning man yelled out with difficulty. His neck's veins popped as he raised his head, looking at Alea with a ferocious gaze. "Are you trying to prove you are better than us, Princess?"
"Don't make me laugh." He said before he started laughing.
"I may not have been allowed to learn runic magic, but I know a thing or two about the high-level spirits." He paused. "Sooner or later, you will run out of mana. Even if you have mana stones, how long can you keep up? How long can you prolong the fight until the crown your House is so proud of becomes nothing more than an accessory?"
"Run away, princess! Run away! Scatter back to your home and spread the news of our Savior. Let more people know of how the people of Saurkeep had reached salvation."
"Our Savior is kind. He wouldn't want us to stake your head on a stick and parade it around the elven kingdom." The burning man sneered, turning his head toward the nearest trapped crazed. "Right, guys?"
The crazed laughed as if he had heard the funniest joke ever. But something interrupted the burning man before he could join in with the crazed. Something had hit him in the eyes, but it wasn't painful, not really. Then, he heard a sizzling sound. One after another. A droplet of water rained down from the sky, clearing away the ashen fog and its maker.
Adv