Horren and Mal scavenged through the household. Searching for anything that may help them survive this.

  “Feels like looting” Horren grumbled with a sigh.

  “That already happened.” Malastare pointed out coldly.

  He picked up a bag, shook it out. When nothing fell, he tossed it behind him, giving Horren the smallest tilt of his head that carried the point without a word.

  “Still. Doesn't feel right.” Horren continued with a sigh.

  “The dead won't miss food. Lucky for them, they're also spared your display.” Malastare replied, annoyance growing in his voice. He gestured towards Horren's mostly uncovered body to make his point.

  Horren looked down at himself. Bloody, muddy, torn underwear. Rusting shackles still clasped to his arms and legs. The chains had broken off slowly over their escape. But the clasps had rubbed his skin raw.

  “Found anything to break these?” Horren grumbled.

  “Not yet, dare I ask what you were jailed for?” Malastare casually inquired, as he began looking for something heavy to help smash them.

  “Hah! I chose these.” He waved his arm around to show his choice.

  “Why the-” Malastare began.

  “Just didn't expect the city to collapse while I was.. enjoying.” Horren finished, deciding to leave it there.

  Malastare took a moment before fully realizing that he had enough information, to not want any more. His eyes widened only a little, before returning to his calm careless attitude. He went back to scrounging.

  Horren dug through the wreckage, searching for any clothes to wear. The bandits had looted and pillaged vigorously already.

  It sickened him each time he found an option, only for it to be ripped and bloody.

  Eventually he found something clean enough. A pale pink floral dress, frills and all.

  The fabric was delicate, absurdly soft. He tried not to picture the girl who once wore it. Tried not to think about whether she’d laughed while twirling in it, or screamed in it before the end.

  “Sorry, lady,” he muttered, tying it around his waist. “Need it more than you do now.”

  He sighed and accepted his decision. Ripping it in half, he began wrapping it around him for some form of coverage, modesty was a long absent choice.

  Malastare looked at the blood stained clothes that Horren had discarded, then turned towards him.

  “So, you've got a unique gift.” Malastare began.

  “How does it work? Is the magic in the blood, or just yours?” Intrigue piqued in his tone.

  “Eh?” Horren called back, “A bit of both I guess.” He continued shortly.

  “Fascinating. People like you don't make it to your age.” Malastare continued.

  “Ha!” Horren let out another sarcastic laugh. “They don't make them like me, grandpa.”

  “Grand- I'm not that old either you fool.” Malastare objected.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  He looked at the dwarf's arms. They had more scars and wounds than he could count. The newest ones looked a week old at least, but Malastare knew better.

  “The wounds go away quicker than they should, don't they?” Malastare inquired even further.

  Horren stopped his searching.

  He turned and looked at Malastare.

  “Aye. Maybe not fast enough still.” He said quietly, hoping to drop the conversation. His arms were slightly shaking from the adventure so far.

  “You're tapped.” Malastare noticed. The mild epiphany hit him. “Another trick of yours today would be final.”

  Horren gave him a solemn look. He knew the elf was right. Hide it as he might, he was not recovering fast enough. He was not used to this much blood flowing.

  “Here.” Malastare said. He held out a flask he'd just found in the rubble.

  Horren took it, excitement flared under his eyes. He opened it, and took a sniff.

  “Damn. Just water.” Horren sighed, the excitement fled.

  “Yes. Water. You're no use to me dead.” Malastare replied, kindness lingering within the sarcastic tone.

  The door opens wide.

  Alkibiades stood at the doorway, drenched from blonde hair to steel boots. His young face slumped in defeat and exhaustion.

  “Hey guys I need help with..” He began. Then he looked down at Horren. “Are those..?” Cut off again by his own chuckle.

  “Miss the view, pretty boy?” Horren grinned at him.

  Al didn't have a reply to that. So instead he continued his request.

  “Fire. I need help with the bodies.” He asked.

  Horren laughed a short denial before returning to his search. Finding a rusty hammer, he began trying to knock the steel cuffs loose.

  Malastare said nothing. Instead he moved past them both. Silently he ventured outside.

  Malastare walked up to the pile of corpses.

  Drenched and dripping blood. Pieces missing, some hanging from thin sinew.

  His eyes scanned from face to face.

  The villagers deserved better.

  The bandits deserved worse.

  He shut his eyes, his energy running low. Each spell cost him more than he would ever admit.

  One more tonight.

  His eyes shot back open. Pitch black energy swirling around them.

  His sight began to darken. Curling shadows crept around the edges of his vision. Incoherent whispers taunting his mind. Chatter too far to hear their words, but too close to ignore. Various speeds and volumes. Voices fought over each other to be heard.

  Patiently he endured. Allowing the darkness to invade. Letting it gather around his psyche. They engulfed him, threatened to suffocate him with their weight, their rage, their agony.

  Then, he inhaled. Not with his lungs, but with his soul.

  Malastare consumed the darkness he had gathered. Fueling his drained energy with the devoured essence. Giving him enough to once again unsheath his dagger.

  He aimed it towards the pile. His pose felt too familiar, pommel forward, blade toward himself. He forced the essence of shadows into the dagger. It condensed into a volatile black marble of hatred and despair. Before allowing it to combust.

  In an instant, another sickly dark beam of energy pierced through the air from his pommel. It blasted through the pile into the center. Before erupting.

  Black flames blazed instead, with smoke of white and violet. Devouring most of the light it created. Immediately the sound of water boiling, hissing and popping.

  Beyond that was an eerie silence. The dark flames consumed with quiet ease. Shadowing the victims in their burial.

  Malastare looked to the survivors who came to see the fire. Seeing their family burning with their killers.

  Their breath escaped them, their knees shook.

  Black flames reflected in their broken eyes. No one spoke, just mourned.

  “Let these scars make you, not break you.” Malastare said softly, pain barely hiding behind his voice for the first time in a long time.

  There was a moment of silence, of mourning, of exhaustion.

  Then he stood back up and looked to Alkibiades.

  “So, why Viexel?” He asked.

  “Good point,” Lillyth chimed in. “Isn't Vayne closer?” She asked, trying to remember her maps in her head.

  Alkibiades looked at them both for a moment.

  “I trust them more.” He began, “Vayne is a few hours closer, sure. But it's more south towards the mountains.”

  “What's wrong with the mountains?” Horren pitched in finally. Defensive tones creeping through his tired voice.

  “With the destruction, we would block ourselves in.” Al replied carefully, “ And to be honest, I trust Viexel way more. The Order will help figure this out.”

  He looked down at his destroyed templar armor, and sighed.

  “Okay, why not the town to the north coast? Vithe I think it is? Your names sound so similar. It's annoying. Anyway, It's closer than either.” Malastare inquired again.

  This received stares of various levels of disbelief from everyone. He blinked twice, suddenly very confused.

  “How old are you man?” Al chuckled. “Vithe was ruined years ago. Some big ass fire ball ripped it in half.”

  “Wait. Do you think it was the same thing?” Aeyona gasped.

  “Could be. We won't know anything until we get to the city though.” Al said, tiredly laying down.

  “Can't wait, i need a damn bed.” Horren grumbled as he laid in the grass, his eyes half open.

  After another moment of silence watching the funeral Pyre, Malastare is staring at the sky, frowning.

  “Something wrong?” Alkibiades asks.

  “Well for one, your question has concerned me. I don't know any of these constellations. That's new.” Malastare replied in a curious tone. His voice faded to caution as he continued. “But, I don't think it should be dark enough to see them yet either.”

  “I thought that was you.” Al chuckled nervously.

  “Nope.” Malastare replied shortly.

  Then they looked over towards the tree line they had come from.

  The trees bowed as if in mourning. Their leaves shriveled mid-branch, turning black before they even fell.

  No birds. No insects. No sound.

  The forest held its breath.

  Slowly but persistently, the shadows crept towards them en masse.

  “Shit. It's spreading.” Alkibiades jumped up.

  “Don't say-” Horren began to grumble.

  “We're going.” Malastare stated. He then continued their path towards Viexel. He waited for nobody.

  “That…” Horren finished. He let out a long drawn out sigh before slowly standing back up.

  “One wrong turn and you'll just end up in another crater!” Al called out to him as he stood up. Malastare was already too far away to hear him.

  The group exchanged exhausted looks before silently agreeing to follow.

  Aeyona and Horren helped the girls walk, while Lillyth carried a sleeping Marvel.

  Alkibiades stayed in the rear for a while, keeping his eyes on the encroaching shadows behind them.

  He saw an arm move in the funeral pyre. Then the shadows claimed it, snuffing out the black flames.

  He walked faster, the best he could. His armor growing heavier by the second.

  They traveled through the night, weary and exhausted. Trudging towards Viexel. Praying they were fast enough.