POV of Aaref Fayeworth:
"What did you do?" the wounded mage behind me asked. He was staring blankly at the ground. A subtle but aggressive presence radiated from him... A sleeping monster.
"He was already dead," the cloaked man answered. The words floated off of his tongue casually. He truly didn't care. Not about anything in the world—even his own subordinates. Not a hint of remorse or grief lingered in the air. His posture, composure, and demeanor were all perfectly fine as if he saw nothing wrong with his actions.
"Dead?" the mage repeated. "Dead!" he said again, this time raising his head and yelling at the man. His fists tightened as much as he could. They looked like they wanted to swell and burst from all of the pressure generated. Drops of blood fell from the palms of his fists. His biceps engaged in an intense contraction. Veins sprouted across them. His chest poked out. He grimaced, his teeth spiritedly clamping into each other.
"Oh?" the cloaked man taunted. "Are you angry?"
The mage launched at the man, leaving a small crater where his foot was. He cocked his arm back, preparing to drive his fist into the man. The man ducked, dodging the attack and sending the mage landing fist-first into the ground.
The mage tumbled as the force behind him collided with the ground. He quickly got back up on his knees and screamed. A dark essence began leaking from his body, floating freely around him.
"How dare you?" he asked, the pupils of his eyes vanishing. "How dare you just throw away lives as if they are meaningless and disposable?" He yelled out. The dark essence swarmed around him, intensifying as his anger rose.
A shock numbed my senses. I could feel my body absorbing the sight before it, recalling a familiar sensation. I had felt this type of magic before.
"Throw away lives?" the man repeated calmly. "I am simply just freeing everybody from the day-to-day nightmare that is life... in this cruel world," he said.
"Bullshit!" the mage yelled out. He charged back at the man.
I noticed the elf had nearly reached me by this time. A disturbing raise in his power overshadowed his blood lusting presence. It felt dark and malicious like a corrupted soul. No... it felt as if his soul was gone. He was nothing more than just a walking vessel full of malice and hatred.
I accelerated backward as he reached his hand out toward me, barely avoiding his grasp. He froze. His body lagged, jerking as he processed my new location. A renewed burst of speed accompanied him as he rushed toward me. Narrowly, I ducked at his swing. He followed up by slamming his other fist down at me. I squatted deeply before laterally hopping away. A strong gust of wind trailed.
I prepared to spring at him but quickly ended up blocking a stronger burst of wind as he swung his arms in the air. The wind almost knocked me back, stunning me and preventing me from seeing him blindside me from behind. I felt the ground scraping my skin as he punched me back to it with a magic amplified attack.
His attacks were getting stronger. Even his speed increased. I could feel the difference from when we first started fighting. His magic was growing out of control, surging constantly. The air around me began to move. It sped up, increasing in strength and cycling around the area until it engulfed him like a large tornado.
I turned my head. The mysterious man had disappeared, the grief-stricken boy hadn't moved a muscle, and the enraged mage was still raging. Both, him and the elf, posed a looming threat. The power of their magic had skyrocketed.
Shit, I thought.
I pushed myself off of the ground and high into the air. Roughly one fifth of my mana reserves remained. It'd be just enough to subdue both of them if my attacks were delivered efficiently and without any excessive mana leakage... at least, I hoped.
The wind blew ferociously against my body, blowing my hair back as I descended slowly. I could see the head of the elf sticking out of the tornado. He started to raise his head, but it was too late. By the time his eyes made contact with mine, I had pierced through his head with a small ray of mana. The tornado faltered and the wind returned to normal as his body dropped to the ground.
"And now," I said, looking at the angry mage as I descended. "For you—" The anger in him began waning. His eyes reverted back to normal and tears glossed his eyes. I looked up to see what he was looking at.
An elderly man was flying toward us. He descended. Immediately touching the ground, he ran to the kid. The kid had picked back up the body off the little girl and was holding her as he silently wept.
The Mage made his way over to the two, and I understood. It was a sorrowful reunion. Bitter and unfortunate.
The man shook as he took the little girl from the boy. Her blonde hair moved gently with the soft breeze in the air. A small jab struck my gut. I wasn't unfamiliar with death—in fact I was practically desensitized to it—but I still couldn't override the basic human emotions of sorrow and empathy.
I walked over to the group. The mage was crying profusely.
"I'm sorry," he cried. "I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry..." He wheezed. "I'm sorry."
He sounded like a broken record, at a loss for words: unable to convey any other thought or depth. The older man looked at the mage, his eyes watering.
"I told you," he said. His voice was cold and rasp, barely above a whisper, "not to use that magic."
"I know," the mage said. His face shriveled as he sniffled. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"It wasn't his fault," the boy butted in.
Despair had grasped a hold on all of them. A brokenness lingered underneath the hollow tone of their voices. All of their heads gravitated toward the ground. Even the monkey on the boy's shoulder was visibly upset, sulking.
"Pardon me for interrupting," I said, "but I'm going to need all of you to accompany me back to the palace."
***
POV of Lucian Voltier:
Finally, the golem had fallen. It was no longer a threat. Only small rocks and pebbles remained of it. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before exhaling. The ringing sound in my head had almost faded. In its absence was a brief silence, one that was quickly broken by the small cries of Devold.
"She's gone," he said as I approached.
I bent down next to her body. It was smashed into a bloody mess. Surprisingly, her body still held structure. I placed two of my fingers on her neck. No pulse. I grabbed her wrist. Her arm fell meagerly in my grasp. Again, no pulse. I looked at Devold. Our eyes met.
"I'm sorry," I told him. I turned my head back to Evya. I blinked and took another deep breath, harboring it before exhaling. "I'm sorry, Evya."
I'm sorry for not being the best leader I could be. This is my fault. A real leader would have ushered you all away from danger, into the backlines. You shouldn't have died. I peered into her eyes, my stare growing blankly. If only I could rewind time... I felt a small lump forming in my throat. Thank you... for all of the good times.
"Alright," I said, getting up from the ground and looking around. "Everybody go back to the palace. I'm going to stay behind and patrol the area for any survivors or any other threats."