Prologue.
His chest was pounding, his breathing erratic, muscles aching as he ran through the streets, leaping over burning debris from the crumbling houses in his frantic search for survivors. He had seen many things on his travels, but never such dark hearted butchery of innocent civilians. Dozens of good people lay dead in his path, cut down by either the inferno or the lethal blade of the madman that now stalked these streets. Many still burned in their doorways; the smell of scorched flesh filling his head, a smell he would never forget and hoped with every fibre of his being was never inflicted on anyone else. This was more than death. This was the stench of treachery.
Stumbling into the main square, he was filled with hope at the sight that awaited him. A small group of survivors had escaped the blaze, running for the safety of the outskirts, carrying the wounded with them. A young man knelt down beside a dying young woman, his fingertips aglow as his healing magic pulsed through her body, creating energy barriers to stop the internal bleeding threatening her life. Her breathing slowed and she smiled at her benefactor as he moved on to another, an old man with huge gashes across his chest, led in a pool of blood as he struggled to hang on to his life. The young man cursed as he found his spell to be too little too late, his strength waning leaving him unable to continue.
A scream pierced the nightmare and everyone whirled to face the source, instantly regretting it. The silver haired madman's impossibly long blade impaled another innocent man through the chest, dark crimson seeping along the viciously sharp edge as the victim choked and struggled in his last few moments, cast aside with a deft flick of the madman's wrist as his body became nought but an empty shell.
The silver haired murderer turned to face them, raising his arm to send out powerful magical orbs that sought out the terrified survivors as they ran for the town's exit. The glowing ice blue orbs thudded into the innocents as they dove for cover, vaporising flesh and bone as the few survivors fell to the floor, survivors no more. One last orb hurtled towards the kneeling healer as he screamed his rage into the sky, leaping to his feet and deflecting the deadly magic with his vast blade. The sword barely withstood the onslaught, the steel left scorched but its wielder unharmed, his breath ragged as his efforts to save the town began to take their toll, now found to be mostly in vain.
He turned to look upon them and his lips curled into a twisted smile. He knew he could finish them at any moment, but what would be the sport in that? Besides, he had more important matters to attend to. He turned into the flames and strode through with no fear, as if he knew the flames themselves feared him.