WARNING! EXTREMELY GRAPHIC! IF YOU ARE NOT OVER 18 AND A MATURE ADULT, DO NOT READ!
INCLUDES GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, SEX, DEATH, AND DISTRUBING IMAGES.
You have been warned.
A/N - Blaze is not the main character for this story, Harry is. This chapter just sets up her character, and is meant to show you how truly evil she is. She will end up "mentoring" Harry. This story will go over Harry's training with her, and span the first two years of Hogwarts (with several sequels), if it isn't deleted first - although I have read some Twilight lemons that are as graphic as this, and they haven't been deleted yet. It'd be rather hypocritical of to delete this story and leave those up. If it IS deleted though, I would like some suggestions on where I can post it without fear of deletion. It is my sincerest hope that no children will read this story. I have two children of my own, and I wouldn't let them near this story with a 50 foot stick. Updates will be weekly, and if I miss a week, then next week there will be two updates. Feel free to lambaste me if I fail to follow through with this promise. And finally, any flames will be given to Blaze - she is very partial to fire.
She danced merrily around the street, prancing to and fro, grabbing random utensils out of the hands of the flabbergasted people. It was dinnertime, and many of the people were women who had spotted her while peering out from beneath the curtains, spying on the neighbors. When they saw what she had done, they rushed outside, whatever cooking or cleaning implement they were using still in their hands. After witnessing the crime she had just committed in their nice, pleasant suburban town, they were in a state of shock and panic. This only deepened when the woman, instead of running off or attacking somebody else, began a one-man parade in the street as if she owned it. Slowly she started making beats with the objects, using any surface as an instrument. Mailboxes and streetlamps were her surfaces of choice, although the occasional car or fire hydrant was intermingled. The men had come out now, confused as to what hooligan was making such a racket, and distracting their wives from making dinner. Many ruddy faces drained of color as they saw the body in the street, and then quickly became confused as to why a woman was dancing around it, banging cooking utensils against their $40,000 cars.
The music had a catchy rhythm, which almost seemed to hypnotize the townspeople. Eyes that had once held nothing but pure shock began to glaze over. The people that mere seconds ago had been whispering furiously to each other, angry and uncertain over how they should react to the situation, and when they should call the police, fell silent. The bouncing woman with her tinny beat was the only sound in the square. The dancing, which was more like marching, matched the beat, which was some sort of up-tempo dance song. Stances that were once defensive began to open up, until they seemed to be almost inviting her to amble towards them and bring the music with her. Heads began to bob, waists began to sway back and forth, and feet started to move, in a surprising show of how a little improvised music could make a group of dazed people forget what had just occurred. Of course, music wasn't the only thing lacing through the street, but they didn't need to know that. Some of the people were still reluctant, though. The blood slowly seeping out of the fresh corpse in the middle of the square was the cause of this recalcitrance.
Blaze was still carrying out the beat, and more and more people began to join in, adding their two cents to the music. Homemakers, who in their right mind would be screeching at this slip of a woman, telling her to leave before they called the cops, commenced with hitting their stainless-steel-made-in-china cooking implements against random surfaces. The music wasn't harmonious, and could hardly be considered music at all if it weren't for the underlying beat, still carried out by Blaze. Cheerfully, she began to dance in a circle around the corpse, as if honoring it in some perverse way. Although the fact of the matter was, the dance was nothing more than a mockery. It was an experiment of sorts - she honestly was curious if she could use magic to persuade the people to dance over someone she had just killed in front of their very eyes. Faces of her victims blurred together these days, but she was fairly certain it has been a young girl. Or it could have been a boy. In truth, she really didn't care; a muggles were barely human, and it was an honor for her to kill one personally.
The people continued the music, and continued to dance, seemingly caught up in the song now. More people began to amble into the street, walking from different streets due to some urge they could not resist. An unidentified spark shone in most of their eyes - the spark of life. Their lives were always so dreary, so filled with fear; Blaze's song was the opposite of that. It was the ABSENCE of fear. Magic swayed through Blaze's beat, intertwining with it until they both became one and the same. The noise grew even louder. Magic could dominate the weak-minded, but this was different; Blaze could control the pathetic muggles, she already knew that. What she wanted to know is if in some primal, instinctual part of their minds, they wanted to join her in her dance of abandon, her dance of madness. People began banging their random objects against their other random objects harder, and faster. When around two hundred people were in the street, all of that banging made quite a loud noise. Blaze infused magic into the noise they were making, and that magic played on the emotions and yearnings they already had; it would remove their inhibitions, their self-imposed laws, all of the rules and expectations placed on them by society. It was for this reason she chose this nondescript, normal suburban town, perfectly, sickeningly muggle in every way possible. All the houses were the same, all of the yard perfectly cut, and all the hedges neat. They thought of them as homes, but Blaze knew better.
They are prisons. Prisons with invisible walls, which are the strongest of all prisons. It is time to see what happens when all the walls come crumbling down.
The music reached new limits, now a cacophony of random noise so loud the leaves on the trees began to tremble. Then something happened that sealed the deal for these people, and ultimately decided their fate. One man, meaningless in the scope of history, and totally common in every single way, somehow made a momentous decision in the inner workings of his mind that would irrevocably change the shape of the world. One choice, one decision, one step was all it took. A man, who shall forever be unnamed, broke the unspoken ranks and started dancing around the body with Blaze. A feral grin split Blaze's face, but the people were much too caught up in their abandon that if they noticed it, they were too far gone to care. More and more people paraded onto the street, and more people from neighboring streets were coming every second. They all circled the body, and their movements became wilder, more erratic. People began humming, which quickly escalated into warbling. Blaze no longer needed to dance. These people had lost their walls; there was no need to bring them down anymore. All they needed was a little more time, and then... well, and then she'd see her experiment come to fruitition.
Dancing was no longer an accurate word; people were flailing about, contorting their bodies into shapes that were pure expressions of emotions, and that were much too unflattering and grotesque for anyone to attempt while dancing. This wasn't a cheerful dance tempo anymore - it was a frenzy. People were howling now, screaming bloodcurdling screams that would have shattered windows if these people did not have the plexi-glass-survive-hurricane-force-winds-made-in-china windows. The screams just built, one on top of another, until they vibrated the very air. Utensils were no longer being confined to hitting other utensils, rather they were beating their utensils or very hands on any surface they could find, whether it be a building, the ground, or another person. Blood was flowing freely from the crowd as people began attacking each other. What had once been a quaint, pleasant suburban street was now a thrashing pit of crazed humans.
Blaze loved it.
She nonchalantly watched as a full-grown man, still holding a metal spatula, began beating a little girl, no older than 5 or 6, until her face was a mass of bloody pulp resembling hamburger meat, features no longer distinguishable. Closer to her, not three feet away, Blaze watched in silent appraisal as a woman began hacking her arm off with a meat cleaver while a man was knawing off one of the fingers. A few people had formed a sort of circle, and were continuously banging there heads onto a gigantic upturned pot, and when one of the people slumped to the ground, dead, another would take his place. One teenage boy had a cheese grater, and was slowly sliding it over his tongue, over and over again. He had almost reached the root of his tongue, but he showed no signs of stopping, even as blood poured out of his mouth. One man was cutting his dick with a paring knife, slicing it like a cucumber. He had even taken off the skin first. Little chunks of dick fell to the ground, only to be caught by a woman and shoved into her mouth frantically as if she was dying of starvation. Blood spattered the bottom of Blaze's robes, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. These people had taken to her experiment better than she had ever expected, and were starting to kill themselves and each other too quickly. It had barely taken any persuasion at all.
When you get right down to it, muggles without rules are monsters. Hell, Muggles WITH rules are monsters.
The girl or boy she had initially killed now lay somewhere beneath the pulsing mass of bodies, undoubtedly trampled so much as to be unrecognizable. Blaze admired her handiwork for a little longer, none of the people coming closer than two feet from her due to a strong compulsion spell threaded in with the magic telling them not too. She doubted any of them could actually harm her, but she learned long ago not to take unnecessary risks when they could so easily be avoided. She was a firm believer that if you were 99.99% sure of something, it would be the .01% that killed you. She meandered through the screeching, scratching, bloody crowd, and slowly a wicked idea flashed through her mind. Odd that she hadn't thought of it before, actually. A look on her face that could only be described as mildly interested suddenly morphed into something else, something evil. In the midst of the madness, Blaze did something crazy.
She began dancing again, only this time it was different, it was much more sensual. By some ironic twist, the man who had first broke ranks to come dance with her around the corpse was the person nearest to her. She began grinding up against him, writhing her body languidly through his, and slowly adding another thread to the blanket of magic energy that already surrounded everyone. This thread was a compulsion of pure lust.
The man, previously occupied with gouging his eyeballs out with a pair of chopsticks, found his body reacting with hers, and began to dance erotically. The people around them were likewise effected, and the madness turned into something that could be defined very easily in one word; bloodlust. Sex was an added part of the equation, and the people likewise reacted, their thirst for blood now augmented with a yearning for sexual satisfaction. Clothes that were already bloodied and tattered were torn from their bodies, and as if a stone dropped into a pond, the lust spread through the entire mob in a wave.
Blaze extricated herself from the man, not in the least bit interested in actually sullying herself by allowing him to touch her.
The filthy muggles are lucky I'm even gracing them with my presence at all.
Blaze was now the only one in the entire mob who still had clothes on, and if the people weren't well past crazed by this point, she would have stuck out like a wolf among lambs. But of course, that's exactly what she was. She just happened to be an extremely sadistic wolf, who liked to slowly torture the lambs before she ate them.
The suburbians, who minutes ago had been so civilized, were now fucking each other in an orgy of blood. Blaze watched as a teenage boy shoved his entire dick in the general area of what should be a baby girl's vagina. Of course there was too much blood covering the baby, so it really could've been anything, but his dick was being shoved into some hole, odds being that both of her holes had torn, and he was now fucking her intestines. Actually, upon further investigation, Blaze saw that his dick was actually reaching near her chest, meaning he was reaching an orgasm by fucking a dead baby. No wonder it had stopped screaming.
Pleasant.
Most of the screams were now sexual in nature, although of course the pain was still there. Most of the people were killing each other as they fucking them, too caught up to notice that they were being killed as well. A big, beefy man, who was penetrating her with a dick the size of an enormous sausage while he simultaneously smashed her head onto the hard, blood-slicked street, was pounding into a woman to the left of Blaze. The blood had completely covered the street now, and began to pool in some places. The bottom of Blazes robes were ruined - now she'd have to actually send them out to get them cleaned.
The nerve of these people!
While Blaze grumbled about the soiling of her robes, a young boy ran into the square, having run all the way from the park after hearing the screams. In fact, most of the citizens of this particular section of Surrey had ended up in the mutilated pit of human flesh by now, but people were still coming. The mass of bodies now completely covered the street, and was spilling out into the yards. It was completely packed, except for a particular spot that was devoid of any people besides one, solitary figure; an eye in a hurricane.
Harry Potter took one look at this scene, and then threw up, his stomach spewing out whatever he had eaten for breakfast in an undistinguishable mess. The smell of bile filled his nose, but it could barely be distinguished from the overpowering stench of blood and human waste. The blood rose over the shoes Harry wore, and bathed him up to his ankles. The blood has started to drain into the gutter, but more and more people kept running into the mass of bodies, caught up in the weave of compulsions, adding fresh fodder to the fire.
Harry kept dry heaving, but there was nothing to come up. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he tried to breathe in through his nose as little as possible, but the sounds assailing her ears were unbearable. Screams and moans, one on top of the other, never-ending, and each one causing Harry such a great amount of revulsion that he had the urge to vomit again. Harry couldn't think; his mind was a jumbled mass of thoughts and urges, the most prominent of which was the one to go and join the orgy. To join the madness. It had been plagueing him almost immediately after he heard the screams. Although he would have gone running towards the screams anyway, it was mainly the urge that had drawn him here. Harry had been fighting this urge ever since he had first felt it, but he stood there, trying to get his thoughts together, to command his body to do something, ANYTHING. However, the urge to join them was too strong, and it was warring with his other thoughts, keeping him in a stalemate of inactivity.
Suddenly, the urge changed into an outright command, one that had him opening his eyes and walking forward a couple steps before he even realized it. Every part of him, except for one small little pocket of resistance, wanted to join the people in the street. It was like trying to stop rolling down a hill; he was grasping at anything he could to fight off the inevitable. He kept walking inexorably towards the mass, his resistance fading. Everyone else was having such a great time, maybe it'd be fun for him too…
no.... no... Yes why not, it'd be so easy, so fun!
No... No... There is no point to delay the inevitable. Just look at how happy they are!
NO...NO... Are you afraid? Don't be afraid, there is nothing to harm you. Nothing to fear...
NO! NO! NO! Yes Harry, yes!
NOOOO!!!!! NOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
With one final ounce of willpower, he was able to halt his progress completely, and shake he cobwebs of the compulsion out of his head. What he saw was truly terrible. His mind was so overcome with graphic, mind-blowing disturbing images that his 9-year-old brain really could not process what was happening. The mass of people blurred together until all he saw was a block of SOMETHING, but that something remained undefined in his mind, as he was unable to comprehend it, so horrific was the image. That helpful, detail-less image was obliterated as soon as he caught a glimpse of his mother in the mass. A half of a second glimpse, that was all, but Harry was sure it was her. He frantically gazed out into the mass of bodies, and tried to find his Aunt.
The image was truly gruesome. Bodies that had once been people were contorted in and around each other, slicked with blood and grit, almost all of them wounded in some way, and every single one of them mindlessly fucking each other. Entire babies were shoved up bleeding vaginas, several men were fucking the torn asshole of another man, and one beefcake of a man was fucking a woman near the ground, and by the way the woman was shaking, it looked like his dick was no less beefy. Wait a second, those faces looked familiar…Aunt Petunia! Uncle Vernon! Harry had never liked them, but he thought they truly did care for him deep down. They neglected him, starved him, over-worked him, turned a blind eye as Dudley and his friends beat him up, and let him know everyday that he was worthless. That he was a freak. It was no secret that 4 Privet Drive was NOT his home; it was theirs. He was a guest, and an unwanted one at that. One who had to earn his keep. Nevertheless, in Harry's mind, he was one who had earned their love.
Memories of past events swam into his head, of years of torment under their care. Of how they had never helped him, of how they had always scorned him, and belittled him. Dudley kept him from ever having any friends, which made him, Harry Potter, the loneliest, most pitiful little boy in the Earth. Even remembering all of these things, he could not stop himself from trying to help them, nor did he want to stop himself. He was too good of a person to not try to help them when they were in desperate need of his help. Although they didn't say they loved him, he knew that deep down, they did. He knew that blood ran too deep for him to be such a freak as to make them sever that bond. He had some affection towards them, affection he tried very hard to get them to reciprocate.
Maybe if I help them, they will tell me they love me! Maybe I won't be such a freak after all!
Harry sprung to action, his course solidified, and once again shut off the images that tried to flow into his head. He at first tried to run straight towards them, but as soon as he got close to any of the people, no ANIMALS, they clawed at him, tearing at his clothes, giving him several scratches that were too shallow to bleed. Aunt petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't seem to notice him at all. They seemed unable to speak; all they could manage was a shrill shriek that pierced straight into Harry's head. His Aunt and Uncle were right there, mere feet from him, and he couldn't get to them! After several attempts to try to snap them out of it from afar, Harry was becoming desperate and frantic. He had no idea how in the world he was going to actually break them free from whatever brainwashing they had gone through without being harmed himself. Tears filled his eyes, and fatigue filled him. Suddenly a figure appeared behind him, but he barely registered it. He was watching a train wreck; terrible, but unable to look away. He watched as his Uncle, a sight no living being should have to see, fucked his Aunt. His Uncle, apparently not content with the way things were going, began to smash her head against the ground harder and harder. Her head was rolling around wildly, and due to some fluke, she managed to spot Harry. With an inhuman shriek, she sliced her nails into Vernon's flabby back so hard as to get his attention. She wildly gestured to where Harry was standing, tears rolling down his eyes, gazing at them.
"YOU BOY!" screeched Aunt Petunia. It came out rather uneven, a Vernon didn't seem to feel that the arrival of his nephew warranted a pause in their fucking. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" she shrieked shrilly. It seemed that Aunt Petunia had two tones in this state - loud and louder.
"I'm... I'm here to save you!" mumbled Harry, getting stronger when he realized that his Aunt was talking to him, that she wasn't completely brainwashed. His reply went unheard, lost in the cacophony of screams and moans, but Aunt Petunia didn't seem to be looking for one.
"WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS FUCKING THERE? DON'T YOU GET IT? WE DON'T WANT YOU!" Aunt Petunia cackled insanely at him, moans and cries punctuating her cackles thanks to the ministrations of Vernon, who had started banging her head against the pavement again.
"I.... I.... I wanna go home! Please, Aunt Petunia, snap out of it!" begged Harry, just wanting to close his eyes and have this all disappear.
"SNAP OUT OF IT? IVE NEVER BEEN MORE AWARE IN MY ENTIRE LIFE! YOU PATHETIC LITTLE CHILD, YOU WANT TO GO HOME? YOU HAVE NO HOME! YOU WERE NEVER WELCOME IN OUR HOME, EITHER!"
Harry began to cry again as Aunt Petunia's words pierced his heart, and rang true. He KNEW what she was saying was the truth; the pure, unfiltered truth that only comes out when a person loses their filter. Each word was like a splinter, sinking deeper and deeper into his already jaded heart.
"WE KEPT YOU AROUND BECAUSE YOU WERE USEFUL, NOTHING MORE! AND THOSE OTHER FREAKS MADE US TAKE YOU! THEY SAID THEY DIDN'T CARE HOW WE TREATED YOU, AS LONG AS WE KEPT YOU UNDER OUR ROOF! EVEN YOUR OWN KIND DON'T LOVE YOU! THEY HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I WISH YOU WOULD DIE!"
At this, Uncle Vernon's thrusts reached a crescendo, and with a bellow, he released his load into his Aunt, who would've screamed herself, but she was no longer among the living. Vernon had smashed her head against the street so hard that her skull cracked, and brain matter gushed onto the ground, mixing with the blood in a goopy mess.
Harry stumbled back, away from what he had just heard and seen. His head shook robotically, as if trying to deny what he now knew to be true. His Aunt's words replayed themselves over and over in his head, like a broken record, cementing the same thing that he was pitifully trying to deny.
They didn't love him.
They never had.
Harry's world came crashing down, and he no longer had the will to stand. He tumbled to the ground, his mind closing itself off to the outside world. Everything he had ever known was a lie. He dealt with the neglect, the beatings by Dudley, the starvation, because he had always thought that they loved him. That they were trying to make him less of a freak.
It was all a lie. They HATED him. Their cruelty was not some conditioning program; it was merely their hate, manifested. He had ignored it, and tried desperately to be a good son.
He had failed. He was a failure.
Wait, no he was not! It was THEIR fault! Slowly, things began to reorganize themselves in Harry's head. Memories were given a new spin as Harry realized the true motivation behind his relative's actions. His world shifted with all the subtlety of an atomic bomb as the entire way he viewed the world was demolished, leaving his head an empty void except for one, single thought.
He hated them.
"Now, what do we have here?" was the last thing he heard before the world went black, and the universe faded into oblivion.
Blaze was intrigued. Not only had her experiment been a complete and utter success, but also she had found a magically gifted child.
Here! In this random, muggle town. In this muggle street. At the very place I decided to conduct my experiment. At this exact time. The odds are astronomical.
She had felt it as soon as he arrived at the square. His presence was the only living being that was not completely saturated with her magic, the people now nothing more than puppets filled with darkness. The moment that man had joined her in her dance, they were all doomed.
The boy's presence was a beacon of light in the darkness, flaring out so brightly that she had to shield herself with a cloud of darkness as to not have her magical sight blinded. The boy did not seem to notice her, however; he was entirely preoccupied with emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ground. Now mildly curious as to how strong this boy was, she sent a compulsion, much stronger than anything she would throw at a muggle, and watched in amazement as he fought it off in seconds.
Seconds!
Never before had she actually been this surprised. She watched as he gazed into the mass, apparently looking for something. He seemed to find it, because moments later, after having what seemed to be an internal debate, he charged towards a spot that was out of her line of sight. She could see him through the mass of bodies; his aura of light was enough for her to be able to spot him beneath through their flesh. Curiosity peeked, however, she quickly made her way over to where he was to see what he was going after.
He was staring in desperation as the same women she had seen before, probably his mother or grandmother, was fucked by a man who was more fat than flesh.
Well, it isn't rape if she's enjoying it, although her screams DO sound a little more painful than pleasurable.
The woman seemed to notice the boy, because she let lose a slew of screams, and Blaze could tell that each one hurt the boy deeply. What she heard confused her.
Why would this boy try to save a woman who so obviously hated him? Why was he letting her words affect him so much? Unless... the boy loved this woman. Ahhhh, it startS to make sense. Even though she hated him, he still loved her, and deluded himself into thinking that she loved him too. How...pathetic.
As the man reached his orgasm, he bashed the woman's head against the ground, and her skull cracked in an impressive explosion of brain matter. The boy hardly seemed to notice the demise of his relation, and instead sunk to the ground, obviously caught in a whirlwind of his own thoughts. His head shook back and forth, the universal signal for "no," obviously trying to deny the words the woman had spoken.
Deciding that the boy had seen enough, and would probably take notice of her soon, she asked in a pleasant voice "Now what do we have here?" and sent a Stupefy right into his head, knocking him out cold. Once she was sure he wasn't waking up anytime soon, picked him up and threw him onto her shoulder. The scream of the mob, it seemed, had climaxed with the beefcake, and were now slowly starting to ebb. The people were dying, and what should have been a mildly entertaining spectacle for Blaze for another half an hour, was cut short. Now that she had this boy, these muggle were less than meaningless to her. One drop of magical blood was worth more than a thousand gallons of muggle blood, as far as she was concerned. It had been a long time since she had been interested in anything, but now this boy, this little child, had completely captured her attention. To be able to completely throw off her compulsion charm at such a young age showed he had phenomenal potential. His aura was so bright and unsullied; it was like a miniature Dumbledore.
Who was this boy?
He was magical, he was powerful, and that was all she knew.
What was he doing here, of all places?
With a casual flick of her hand, a gigantic pillar of Fiendfyre blasted out of her wand, instantly incinerating the muggles nearest to her on contact. After a few seconds, the fiendyre turned into monstrous roaring dragon of flames, and it flew down the street, reducing the muggles into nothing but ash. The moans ceased immediately, as whatever traces were left of the people disintegrated with barely any effort on her part. The dragon turned around, its eyes glaring challengingly at Blaze. She sneered back at it, and it let out a snort of flame. Without warning, it charged back toward her, but she was unafraid. With a skill that spoke of experience, she efficiently murmured the counter spell, and the dragon was sucked inexorably back into her wand. Blaze was not surprised at all; a dragon was a willful creature, one that did not take kindly to being controlled. It was an expression of who she was as a person. Her Patronus, if she was still able to perform such light magic, would have been a dragon as well. As such, she would have been disappointed if her dragon had been a docile one.
Blaze didn't do docile.
The world seemed almost empty without the screams of the muggles. Blaze slightly regretted having to kill them so quickly, but after a second, she shrugged it off. She could find screams elsewhere. Blood still seeped over her robe, which despite her immense knowledge of all things magic related, she would be unable to prevent from staining. She suspected it was one of those charms that only frumpy mothers could learn. With another swish of her arm, and a nonverbal Evanesco, the blood instantly disappeared, off of her robes. With a long exaggerated arm movement and a thunderous "EVANESCO!" the rest of the blood in the street disappeared, and nothing was left in the spot where an entire town of people had lost there lives. In what seemed like an afterthought (but was actually her plan the entire time), Blaze began to walk down the street, and flicked her wand at each house, muttering Confringo each flick. Blaze continued walking, following the grid of houses, passing by every row, a never-ending stream of curses firing from her wand. The boy was still motionless over her shoulder, oblivious to what was happening. After a minute or so, most of the houses had begun to smolder. Blaze just kept walking, a purposeful stride to her gait now. Little Whinging had around twenty streets, and Blaze was determined to ignite all of them. Unrelentingly, she kept walking. The streets behind her were now alight in flames, the fire visible, and eagerly gobbling up the wooden furniture of the houses. Blaze spent another couple of minutes firing Confringos, refusing to look back until her work was complete. Finally, she arrived at the last house, and shot a final Confringo. She turned around to admire her handiwork.
What she saw brought a demonic gleam to her eyes, a barbaric smile to her lips. What she saw was artwork; a masterpiece. People could talk about Picasso or Michelangelo all they wanted, but THIS was true art.
Wicked orange flames gushed from the windows of every house, rising up to the roof and joining with the rest of the fire. Each house was a little globe of light and heat; candles lined up in ceremonial row, bestowing their light upon the world.
The fire devoured everything it could get its hands on; it scorched yards to dust, and melted cars into cesspools of cheap-sparkle-ultra-glossy-"lookatme!"-made-in-china paint, the color oozing onto the ground, bubbling and gurgling like puddles of molten lava.
The fire itself was so awesome; words could not do it justice. All shades of red, orange, and yellow collided in a kaleidoscope of hues, intertwining and combining until a burnt cornea was all that remained from greedily gazing at its awesomeness for too long. It flowed effortlessly, more graceful then water, more weightless than air, and more majestic than a mountain. Who needed all four elements when you had fire?
Fuck water, I pee water, and there is nothing graceful about that. Fuck air, air comes from my ass. Mountains… well...eh, they're okay, but fuck them too. This is art.
Fire danced, reflected in her eyes, as what remained of Little Whinging went up in flames. A holocaust of suburbia.
Hmm, holocaust of suburbia. I'll have to remember that one.
The inferno was now belching smoke, expectorating massive hiccups of ash and debris. Explosions churned the air, and tendrils of flame licked at the street, angry that they couldn't gobble up the pavement.
The air became so hot, her skin started to get uncomfortable. The boy stirred slightly, showing that the heat was affecting him as well. She had lingered as long as she could; it was time to leave. With one last mournful look at her masterpiece, she spun around.
An entire town was dead; gone, obliterated from the face of the earth. All of those people had lives, troubles, dreams, love. They all were trying to make their way in the world, trying to work their way up the ladder, and leave something better behind for their children, their children's children, and their children after that. The inhabitants were slaves, yes, slaves to society, but they all subconsciously yearned to be free, to explore the world, to be able to live their lives without chains. Her experiment proved that.
None of that mattered to her. In fact, it mattered so little that it never even entered her mind, the fact that she had just tortured and murdered well over a thousand living beings in order to satisfy a mild curiosity. If it had entered her mind, it would have left just as quickly. They were nothing to her. She was fire, uncaring and merciless, and that little village had made the grave error of being in her way. She had burned through that town, and had left nothing but ashes.
Because that is what she does. She is fire. She is death.
In a whirlwind of robes she apparated away from Little Whinging, a mysterious boy slung over her shoulder, leaving nothing behind but ashes and death.
Why?
She is Blaze.