It’s a dark night, not even the stars seem to shine as brightly as they normally do, too ashamed of the world they guide below.
The fierce red and yellow monster spreads far and fast through the village, bringing death to all, as it scratches at the sky.
Deafening screams fill the night as the fire takes victim after victim. Mothers and fathers, grandparents and children. The fire does not care whom it takes. It has no mercy as it devours its prey. They are all trapped within their own dying microcosm, unable to escape Hell.
The fire roars and crackles as it licks up everything; along the wooden houses, up the stone buildings and down the cobbled streets.
High on top of the cliff overlooking the village, one man stands watching it all.
The man is covered in black robes; his face is unrecognisable even from the glow of the fierce fire below. All that can be seen is the smile that claws at his lips, a ghostly leer to all those periling below, fuelled by their tortured shrieks.
More and more screams fill the nights’ atmosphere as thick layers of smoke travel up to the heavens like demon claws. In the man’s hand is a silver lighter with a phoenix emerging out of flames and destruction engraved onto it. His slim fingers play with the small fire created at its end as he lights the large cigarette in between his parted lips.
The man casts his gaze up to the stars, a faint gleam of something similar to sorrow touches his eyes but is gone in an instant. The slight glimpse of golden eyes is replaced by an intense black.
He looks back at his creation, the stars light being no match for the fiery depths beneath his heavyset boots. With a long drag from his cigarette, the man walks away from the destruction below, his great leather coat trailing around him as he knows that his work is done.