Crown of Cinders
He set himself ablaze.
The flames roared to life, a living entity of their own, coursing through Ezra's veins like molten fury. White-hot embers crackled at his fingertips, licking up his arms, consuming everything in their path with ravenous hunger.
The heat wasn't just on his skin—it was inside him, a relentless force that burned through muscle, bone, and thought until there was nothing left but fire.
He no longer felt human—no longer bound by the limitations of flesh and bone, of fear and doubt.
He was fire incarnate. A force of nature—raw, unrelenting, and utterly mad.
The white flames surged through him, igniting every fiber of his being. He felt alive—unstoppable, destructive.
The very forest quaked beneath him, trees bending as if cowering in fear, their branches cracking and groaning under the oppressive heat. The dark horizon blazed with unnatural light, the night sky consumed in an instant—turned to day under the fury of his inferno.
The ground beneath his feet split and blackened, the earth itself recoiling from the sheer intensity of his power. Ash and smoke billowed into the sky, thick enough to choke out the clouds, turning the world into a swirling maelstrom of fire and shadow.
He no longer recognized himself as he unraveled, nor did he have a single ounce of consciousness left to care. His mind was a distant memory, a whisper drowned out by the roar of the flames.
His eyes burned like molten gold, searing embers of fury as he locked onto the monster. The reflection of his fire danced in the creature's hollow gaze, and for the first time, it felt fear.
Its grotesque tongue lashed forward, a serpentine blur of muscle and malice, piercing Ezra's shoulder with brutal force. But the moment it made contact, it recoiled violently, the flames devouring it like a starving beast, charring the flesh to ash before the monster could retreat.
Ezra didn't flinch.
He couldn't think. He couldn't hear. He couldn't see.
His vision blurred, overtaken by a haze of white fire and unrelenting rage. The world around him faded into nothing but heat and light, a blinding maelstrom that consumed everything in its path.
He moved without thinking, his steps slow, deliberate, each one heavier than the last.
His body felt like it was splintering apart, the weight of his own power threatening to tear him to pieces. He felt weak, his muscles fraying, his bones groaning under the strain, but the fire did not wane—it burned brighter, fiercer, as if feeding off his very soul.
He looked like a man possessed—or something far worse.
Rage fueled him—blinding, all-consuming. The only thing he wanted was destruction. Not just of the monster before him, but of everything—the forest, the sky, the world itself.
The flames devoured everything in their path, sparing nothing. The trees crumbled to ash, the ground split open, molten rivers seeping from the earth's wounds.
The abomination lashed out, its claws desperate, but it was too late.
Ezra's fingers curled around its arm—his grip unbreakable, unyielding, as if the fire itself had taken root in his bones.
Heat radiated from him, burning through skin, flesh, and bone, bubbling, charring, peeling it apart under his touch. The creature's skin split and hissed, the smell of burning flesh thick in the air, but Ezra held on, his grip tightening with every passing second.
The sickening snap of bones echoed like a death knell as he twisted, ripping through sinew and marrow with terrifying ease.
The creature writhed, its shrieks splitting the air, but there was no escape. Its form crumbled, its screams choked by the flames as they engulfed them both.
And Ezra—Ezra welcomed it.
The fire consumed everything. The trees, the ground, the air itself turned to cinders, the world bathed in white-hot devastation.
The area descended into chaos, the heat warping reality itself, turning the landscape into a smoldering wasteland of blistered earth and dying embers.
There was no stopping it. No mercy. No control.
If he had to drag the entire world into the inferno, then so be it.