The gates were very close. Ash spurred his horse, now covered in flames, making it leap. Like a shooting star, it soared through the sky and landed at the gate. The battle continued to rage behind the young man. Screams and maniacal laughter mixed with the clashing steel and the war song of the horns and drums, announcing the arrival of the flaming demon.

Some dropped their weapons, others screamed for help. The demon, whose torn and scorched cloak resembled a pall, struck the ground with his staff, deafening the people with a terrifying roar. A wall of flame shot forth from the cracked earth, covering the wall, the gate, and all those who stood in its way. Flesh burned. Masonry cracked and crumbled.

The mages tried to hold the fire, but not even their golden shields could withstand the power of one of the most destructive elements. However, despite their losses, the people of Zadastra still hoped for a miracle. The gates were about to close, which would buy them some time. Bullets would join the shower of arrows. Mages would enchant every piece of steel and lead, with which they’d cut through the sea of demons to their victory.

But at the moment when it seemed that Zadastra’s three dozen mages would be able to tame this fiery beast, another maddened demon joined the fray. Drenched in blood from head to toe and clad in armor made of dragon scales, he stopped next to the devil and struck the ground with his spear. Flames roared like a dying animal, taking the shape of a giant bird for a moment. Shield’s cracked under its shrill cry and blood dripped from the noses of everyone present. Despite the best efforts of Zadastra’s mages, the golden barrier cracked and the flame began to seep in.

“Hold it!” someone shouted.

But how could mere mortals hold against the fury of two demons? In a heartbeat, the flames burst through the shield and began to devour the fortress, turning the screaming mages into living torches. The gates fell, crumbling like firewood. Like a river through a dam, the Foul Legion burst into the city of Zadastra, sweeping away barricades and outposts on their way to the second wall. A new fight awaited them there. New prey and new loot. With thundering roars, they marched through the streets wet with blood, killing anyone who dared stand in their way. Flames danced around their general, devouring all that his men would leave behind.

The second wall emerged in front of them. Ignoring the falling rocks and boiling oil, they began to traverse the ladders. Some went up the main avenue, carving a path through the gates with their blades.

People parted to make way for the general without even realizing it. They couldn’t ignore the power that he exuded. The lieutenant walked calmly beside him. No one could say which of the two was stronger, but what they knew was that the two were so powerful that they could bring down the Gods if they so pleased.

Having reached the hacked and burning gates, the two put their hands onto the burning iron ornament. The flames died away and the wood exploded, crushing all who had stood behind it and making way for the legion.

“Haha!!” Racker laughed, mad eyes searching for his next victim.

Ash looked down at his staff and let out a sigh full of sadness. The weapon that had been faithfully serving him for a year now had been reduced to cinders. Ignoring the sound of battle raging all around him, he turned toward the temple. This was the first time that he had experienced something that could be called distress and guilt. The staff had been a gift, after all.

The people of Zadastra ignored Ash like a hare would a wolf when it saw it in the forest. After all, what were people if not sophisticated animals? If he wanted to, Ash could’ve incinerated a hundred soldiers and leveled the town hall with the ground, but he still didn’t know what it meant to want something. Racker, on the other hand, knew that he wanted to enrich his collection of enemy heads.

At the steps of the temple of the Goddess of Fire, Sheirai, patron of wandering acrobats, Ash cast his gaze toward the sky. A dome of crimson loomed above them, adorned with heavy clouds of fire and smoke. Ignoring the soot that stuck to his sweaty face, he entered the temple.

Fearful eyes stared at the demon who dared trespass in the domain of the Gods. Women hid their children, elders muttered prayers, and the priests cast protective spells. What was the point, Ash wondered, of keeping them so far from the battlefield?

“What do you want?!” the high priest shouted. He was an old man dressed in a white cassock, clutching an ornate wand made of adamantium. It was said that one ounce of this magic metal could cost a hundred gold, if not more. It was difficult to imagine how much an entire wand made out of it could cost. But Ash cared little about gold. All that he cared about was the order given to him by the king.

“Not even soldiers dare invade the house of a God!” one of the younger priests yelled.

And although that was true, there was no word of God or law that’d stop Ash.

“I’m not a soldier,” he replied immediately

“You’re something even worse. A general,” the high priests said calmly, enveloping the people and the altar with the golden shield. “Leave, or you shall feel the wrath of Sheirai.”

“Is that her?” Ash asked, looking at the golden statue of a dancing maiden clad in fluttering ribbons that stood by the door. She, like all other goddesses, was extremely beautiful. Then again, if they weren’t, people wouldn’t pray to them.

The priest nodded. “It is,” he said and then gasped in horror as flames engulfed the statue, melting it partially. Sheirai’s torso rolled across the floor and stopped by Ash’s foot. With a kick, he turned it around and spat on her face.

“The first form –Incarnation!”

“Heretic!” the priest yelled.

Ignoring the screams, Ash took a leather pouch from his belt and threw it at the foot of the altar.

“Bring me the thing shown on that scroll, and I’ll spare you and your flock. Refuse, and I’ll level the temple to the ground and take what I’ve come here for.”

As if to demonstrate that his threat wasn’t just empty words, he burned through the priest’s shield as if it was nothing more but mere cobweb. The king’s staff finally crumbled to ash, but that didn’t bother the young mage. He was far too close to his goal to care.

The high priest wiped the sweat off his brow and removed the scroll from the pouch. Having gazed at the parchment, he turned pale as a ghost.

“Never!” he protested. But before he could do or say anything else, his head rolled on the ground.

“Always thought that they were a bunch of charlatans,” Racker spat, leading the soldiers into the temple. Judging by the number of heads tied to his belt by their hair, he had been working hard.

“We’ve been looking for you, general. It’s not polite to plunder without approval.”

“Later,” Ash said in a flat tone.

He looked around the crowded room, wondering how many people were hiding in the darkness of the columns and pews. His estimate was about several hundred, if not more. All of them had hoped to find salvation in the temple, but little did they know that it’d turn into their funeral pyre. Children cried, clinging to their mothers who tried to hold back their screams and tears. Some were more successful than others. Both youth and the elders stared at the blood-soaked altar, seeking salvation. All the civilians seemed to have gathered here. They weren’t soldiers. Hell, most of them only ever saw weapons on pictures and on the belts of the city guards. They didn’t pose a threat.

“Kill,” Ash ordered.

“Should’ve said so right away!” Racker smirked.

Laughing and roaring, the soldiers dragged the mothers away from their children. They didn’t spare the little ones, no. They forced the mothers to watch them be hacked into pieces. One of the elders, a brave, but foolish soul, tried to stop them, but the soldiers pushed him aside, hoping that someone else would finish the pest off. He wasn’t worth their time.

As if slaughter wasn’t offensive enough, some soldiers defiled the women right where they caught them. They screamed and called for help, but little did they know that the heads of their husbands had already been placed on the banner of the legion.

“Racker, you’re with me.”

“But...” He turned around to protest, but the glare in the young man’s eyes made him change his mind. “All right,” he sighed and let go of the chestnut locks of some poor woman he had just caught. An order was an order.

Stepping over the blood, guts, and corpses, the two made their way to the altar where the priests were already being slaughtered and offerings collected to be sold on the black market. Ash picked up the scroll that the high priest had dropped and went to the wall behind the altar. There had to be some secret mechanism that’d lead them to the cellars. But where was it?

“Are there any priests left?” Ash asked

Racker looked at the carnage.

“Yes.”

“Bring him here.”

Nodding, the lieutenant let out a sharp whistle and waved his arm. After a moment, the body of a young man was thrown at Ash’s feet. He was probably the same age as him, if not a little bit younger. Brown eyes stared fearfully through black locks damp with blood. He couldn’t believe that there was anyone evil enough to desecrate a temple in this manner.

“How do I get to the basement?”

“I don’t know,” the young man croaked and bent over in pain when Racker kicked him in the stomach.

“I have a little problem,” Ash said. “I have a lot of men. You see, they haven’t felt the warm embrace of a woman for a very long time... And it seems to me that there aren’t enough of them here for all of my hard-working soldiers. So, either you start talking or I’ll give you to those who like the embrace of young men, too.”

It took the acolyte just a moment to make his decision.

“The entrance is under the altar,” he muttered. Racker cut off his head before he could even plead to be spared.

Ash glanced at the heavy table and nodded to his friend. Surrounded in flame, he tried to push the altar away, but it didn’t budge.

“Hmmm,” he drawled, looking at the puzzled Racker. “Told you that beauty lies in simplicity.”

Stepping closer, he pressed his foot to the small ledge at the base of the altar. There was a creak, followed by the low rumble of gears turning. The altar slid aside, revealing a hole and a winding staircase.

Without a word, Racker stepped forth, formed a small fireball on the top of his staff, and led the way down. Ash followed in silence. One could still control the elements even without a staff, but it was so difficult that even the Archmage would struggle to do it.

It was only when he entered the cellar filled with gold and jewels that he finally realized that as soon as he got what the king had asked for, his service in the army would come to an end. Following Racker, who ignored all the treasures around them thinking that they were cursed, he thought about the future. What should he do once he got back? Continue his studies? Go on a journey perhaps? Yes, that sounded like a good idea. Whatever would take him far from his mentors and their endless lessons.

“General,” Racker said breathlessly.

The two stopped in front of a chest made of an unknown, transparent material. A sphere pulsed inside, filling it with the legendary white flame. According to legend, only the greatest of mages could tame it.

“That’s...”

“The Dragon’s Essence,” Ash said, nodding. What stood before him was the spirit of fire, imprisoned within a magic sphere.

Without hesitation, he tore his cloak off his shoulders and wrapped the chest in it. For some reason, he wasn’t afraid that removing it from its spot would activate some sort of a trap. Something inside told him that everything would be all right.

As he walked out of the basement, he didn’t notice the greedy look with which Racker was eyeing the bundle in his hands. Little did he know that this moment of carelessness would be the spark that’d start the fire of change.

Back in the temple, Ash told his men that they were free to plunder to their heart’s content and set toward the gates. However, he didn’t manage to get further than the temple’s door. Racker came running to him, dragging behind him a girl that had been hiding in a niche behind the now broken statue.

“Listen, give me a couple of moments,” he said.

Ash looked down at the poor girl. Even blood and soot failed to hide her beauty.

“Want some?” Racker asked, seeing Ash eyeing her.

The girl didn’t kick or scream, only gritted her teeth tightly. She was staring at them with such intent that if she had been a mage, she would’ve probably caused them to burst into flames with her gaze alone.

“No,” Ash replied.

“More for me!” He heard as he turned and walked away.

A woman’s scream echoed through the streets, followed by a loud yelp. Ash glanced over his shoulder and couldn’t help but grin. Bloody comb in her hand, she was staring at Racker who had covered his face with his hand. Cursing, he cupped her face with his free one. There was a bloodcurdling scream. The sound of hissing and the stench of burnt flesh filled the air. Racker moved his hand and dropped down the girl, her face now disfigured by an ugly scar in the shape of a gauntlet.

“Nobody touch her!” he yelled. Four deep cuts ran down his forehead, over his left eye and cheek. “Let her live... Death would be too merciful of a fate for a whore like her.”

Ash shook his head. The battle was over and the king’s order fulfilled. So why were his hands shaking and chest hurting?

“I’m probably just tired...” he thought and made his way through the burning ruins of what would soon become a ghost town.