Watching the Elf on the battlefield
was like watching a dancing flame.
Moving quickly
with nimble grace.
Golden hair flickering
swirling around him
woven of the purset sunlight.
Blue eyes shining
icy gems.
Glitttering with the
heat
of his bloodlust.
The flame must
consume
their souls.
He must
kill
to survive.
Steps fluid
eager
never faltering.
Like a dance.
A beautiful
deadly
dance.
Burning bright
the flame slashed
and stabbed
with his sword
that delicate weapon
of demise.
He moved
fluidly
flawlessly
with the energy
that lit the path for his allies
but smothered the evil in darkness.
Enemy
falling within seconds.
They never had a chance.
Lithely
expertly
he carved away their life
and made their blood rain onto the earth
like ink.
Ink of a story that could never be told.
Because the fire consumed it
burned it away
into nothingness.
Riding
the wave
of his triumph
he was born
of the spark
and the stars.
He was radiant
unstoppable
bestial
celestial.
A beautiful killing
machine.
Made of glory
energy
power
and
light.
A flame that never burns out.