Last of the Power

He stumbled over a root and the cry that pursued him rose even higher. He saw a shelter burst into flames and the fire flapped at his right shoulder and there was the glitter of water. Then he was down, rolling over and over in the warm sand, crouching with arm to ward off, trying to cry for mercy, but neither nothing nor no one could hear squeals over roars.

Finally he felt the trickles of red blood seep down the last of his ripped cloth. Ralph knew it was the end; wounds burdened him in his struggle to live; fear clouded his mind; thought was impossible. Sharpened senses came from that fear as he felt the soft stomps of a savage among the trees. Willing strength did nothing, and he fell on his bare back; the white sand soothed him and halted the fire.

Ends met at last as Jack charged out of the now scorching fruit trees, spear out front. Ralph knew, but did nothing, knowing it was over for them anyway.

"It's finished now Jack," he called. "Even if you kill me here you'll die with the island."

Jack did not falter, as if he knew it himself. Trees were exploding, fires skipped and danced over blades of grass and tinder scattered over the sand which was unable to ground it. The signal of smoke had risen higher than possible for count of distance high. Rescue was imminent, but with ships to follow the sequence and none made their presence.

Spear high, Jack glared down at the pathetic Ralph in his triumph. The red of his face bore a deeper shade as the white gave a slight pink of heat. "You should've listened. It's your fault this happened! Only strong live on this island! I'm done with you!" Conscious pain burned Jack as he buried the point of his rod within his adversary's torso. The pleasure of a scream was suppressed into a small gasp which lasted as long as Jack pulled out the point. Ralph's limp body rolled out to sea and was carried away by the waves.

Jack gave his last glance out to the ocean. "It's over. I've survived."

But the rampage continued. The small fires had melded together, forming the destructive inferno of power and authority. Flaring trees cracked and burned; some fell over naturally while others simply exploded.

Roger was unfortunate to be the first to fall as chips of bark cut his body from head to toe, and the tree behind him crumpled over him. The flames boiled the fresh blood and burned the tender skin of his being. He was dead. No. He had been incinerated, no longer having even a corporal form to live within.

Samneric faced the ring of fire that covered every step they took. Drawing in ever closer, there was no possible escape for either, and everything was soon lost. Any ashes were swept away by winds which only gave rise to the fires and were burned again.

And within minutes the whole dot of the globe was searing with the clouds, the heat, the power, the destruction. Nothing was spared, not even the water which steamed white into the sky. The torch blazed with fury and power, and was protected by the blue light of the outside. All was lost, and nothing survived.

­

Epilogue: Within the grey droppings and surroundings, the life that once lived was gone. Everything had been blotted from the astral forces that controlled the region, as well as that astral power itself. Darkness filled the sky; there were no stars tonight to watch over the ashes. They had no need to face genocide.

However, within the seemingly dull, fruitless spec of dust, something was left, a great black cloud of buzzing that continued to feast on the hopeless, the lifeless, the fruitless; such carnage was a delicacy. Such a beast would be dead.

Or was it its dawn?