Walking Cataclysm

-Luca-

Another week had passed since I made my 'temporary' stay in Draemoor. Four and a half weeks in total since my entire world had flipped upside down. 

The sun's rays beat down on me as I pulled weeds from the Tavern garden. It was hot and the hood wasn't helping anything. 

"You… are dripping."

I turned my head to see Marei to my left, her dark hair tied back into a tight bun and her once white tunic now stained green and brown from the undesirable vegetation. "I'm fine."

"Mhm." She remarked, flicking some dirt at me. "Look, just take the hood off! You'll have a heat stroke."

With a groan I pulled back from the weeds, sitting on my knees. "If people see my eyes-"

Marei flicked dirt at me again, stopping me before I could finish my argument. "You're gonna be staring down at weeds for most of the time. No one will see your eyes."

I shook my head, staring down at the ground as my fingers dug into my thighs. "I.. I don't know.."

Marei grabbed the back of my cloak between her fingers. "I'll keep an eye out for people." and before I could offer another rebuttal, she yanked the final metaphorical shield off of me. "There, much better."

Unsurprisingly, I immediately began to cool off, with a small smile beginning to form. "t..anks.." I muttered.

Marei broke out in a broad grin. "Hmmm? What was that, Mr. Farmhand?"

"I- never mind." I immediately went back to weeding. Thanks to Marei, these last few weeks made me actually feel some normalcy. I continued to tell her that I was just traveling through, but... Why hadn't I left this place yet? I honestly couldn't force myself to leave, I was just... content? No, that's not right. Am I happy? 

And with that thought came the voice that I dreaded. You're getting accustomed to this, aren't you, Luca? Damon purred. A King shouldn't be doing manual labor, you know.

A King also shouldn't be losing a battle for control with a 16 year old boy. I shot back at him. 

This earned me a cackle from him, and then he went silent. Conversing with Damon had become a normal part of my life now. It was getting harder to keep him at bay and I only wonder how much longer I-

"Luca?"

My name being called snapped me out of my train of thought and I turned to face her. "I- uh, yes, Marei?"

She was standing now, brushing off her legs. "Johan needs me to go with him to Oppi. He needs to pick up some more grain, buuut he's not so good at haggling."

"Oppi?"

"Oh, right. Oppi is a neighboring village, about a day's ride away by cart." She knelt down and grabbed my hands, pulling me up to her level. "Think you can survive two days without me bossing you around?"

I gave a slight nod before wrapping my hood back around my body. "I think I can manage."

And with that, Marei gave a fist bump to my chest before heading off to help Johan with preparing their cart. 

—

I was still standing at the village gates as the cart pulled out of Draemoor. It was midday, the smell of cooked meat and fresh bread filling the air. 

"Boy!" A gruff voice called out.

It was Geralt, the owner of the bakery. I hurried over to him, half-way expecting for him to need me to haul something. "Yes sir? How can I-" 

"No, no. Do you really think I'd only call you over to do something for me?" He crossed his broad arms, his index finger rhythmically tapping as he stared down at me.

I went red from embarrassment, eternally thankful for my hood. "I, er, no of course not."

The man huffed as he pushed a basket of bread into my arms. "As thanks, for everything you do around here."

"I can't take all this! Especially not for free!" I argued.

"We haven't exactly paid you for all your work have we?" Chimed in Roderick from behind me, making his way over from the Tavern. "You're family to everyone in this village, Luca. We appreciate you."

There was that word again. Family. Marei had mentioned it more times than not. Was I really safe? Could I really leave Damon and my unwanted fate behind and just live out my days here? Hiding?

I smiled, my grip on the basket tightening. "Thank you guys, really."

With bread in tow, I made my way back to the Tavern for the night. I was happy. First mistake.

How can you be so calm?

"I'm safe." I stared up at the ceiling of my room, individually counting each board, as my inner voice spoke. Damon was louder and louder as time went on. 

Hm. Safe? Have you forgotten who's hunting you? Damon taunted.

"Sacer has already searched here once, he has no reason to do it again." 

Gabriel and I are connected. The instant he senses my power, he will make his way here. I admit you've held me at bay longer than I thought you would but-

"But nothing. All you are is a voice in my head." 

Damon laughed, the sound reverberating through my skull. Is that right? Very well, then.

—

The sun was beginning to set over Draemoor, casting the village in hues of gold and amber. The day had been lively, as it often was in a place where everyone knew everyone else. Geralt wiped his brow and leaned against the wooden post outside his bakery, his laughter booming as children chased each other down the cobblestone paths.

"You'd better run faster, Marc!" he called after the smallest boy, who squealed with delight as his older sister pretended to give chase. The sight warmed Geralt's heart.

In the market square, Mara tightened her shawl around her shoulders, the evening chill settling in. Her stall was almost empty, the day's produce nearly sold out. She spotted Luca, the quiet boy, slipping through the crowd. He had a loaf of bread tucked under one arm and his hood drawn low.

"That boy needs a good meal," she muttered to herself. She'd offered him apples before, but he'd always declined with a polite smile.

"Mara, you're staring again," called Yelena, the merchant who ran the stall beside hers. "Leave the poor lad alone."

Mara sighed and turned back to her wares, but she couldn't help the way her thoughts lingered on him. He was just a boy, but he carried himself like the world was on his shoulders.

Near the edge of the village, the old couple who ran the tavern were locking up for the night. Roderick clapped his wife, Hilda, on the shoulder. "I'll check on the barrels in the back. You go on to bed."

Hilda smiled at him. "Don't stay up too late. You're not as young as you think you are."

Roderick laughed, the sound carrying through the quieting streets. Draemoor was at peace, as it always was at this hour.

But there was a shift in the air. Subtle at first, like the faintest vibration underfoot. Geralt frowned, straightening from his post. "What in the..." he murmured.

Mara, still packing up her stall, felt it too. A prickling at the back of her neck, as though someone were watching her. She turned, her gaze sweeping the empty market square. "Yelena?" she called, but her voice fell on empty ears. The other merchant was gone.

Near the tavern, Roderick heard the faintest whisper, like a voice carried on the wind. He paused, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. "Hilda?" he called, stepping back toward the door. But when he turned, the fire inside had gone out, leaving the tavern shrouded in darkness.

And then it came.

A roar split the night, deep and guttural, shaking the very ground beneath their feet. Geralt stumbled, his hands flying to his ears. Across the square, Mara screamed as the shadows coalesced into a figure, tall and wreathed in black flames. The air grew thick with heat and smoke as the flames spread, consuming everything in their path.

And at the center of it all was Luca.

His body moved rigidly, the flames clinging to him like a second skin. His head tilted unnaturally to the side, and from his lips came a sound that sent ice down the villagers' spines—hysterical laughter, wild and unhinged. It echoed throughout the village, a twisted symphony of chaos.

"Run!" someone shouted, but it was already too late. The black flames moved with a will of their own, cutting off escape routes and swallowing homes whole. Luca's laughter grew louder, almost gleeful, as he burned down the feeling villagers.

"Ahhh... Safe, were you Luca?" he mused. He raised a hand, and a wave of fire erupted, engulfing a group of villagers who had barely made it to the edge of the square. Their screams abruptly ending as they were snuffed out.

"What fun," He cooed, crouching low as his eyes scanned for movement, like a animal hunting for prey. He lunged toward a family huddled behind an overturned cart, his flames twisting and lashing out like whips. "Shall we play another game, Marc?" He sneered.

Mara grabbed the arm of a child who had tripped and fallen, pulling him close as she turned toward the edge of the village. "This way!" she cried, but the fire was faster. It swam toward them, and she barely had time to shield the boy with her body before the heat engulfed them.

Geralt tried to reach the bakery, where his wife had been closing up. "Amelia!" he called, his voice breaking as he fought through the smoke. He could see her silhouette in the doorway, reaching out to him, but the flames surged between them, cutting her off. Her scream was the last thing he heard before the fire consumed the building.

Roderick and Hilda clung to each other in the tavern's cellar, the heavy door shut tight above them. "It's not natural," Hilda whispered, her voice trembling. "This is no ordinary fire."

"Whatever it is, we'll survive it," Roderick said, though his voice held no conviction. The heat was seeping through the floorboards, and the air was growing thin.

Luca's body twisted unnaturally as he stalked through the carnage, his laughter morphing into an animalistic growl. He grabbed a fleeing villager by the throat, lifting them effortlessly. "You call this living?" he hissed, his red eyes glowing like embers. The villager choked, clawing at his hand, but Luca only laughed again before allowing the fire to consume him.

"Stop it!" Luca screamed, raw and desperate. "Please, stop!"

But Damon's grip was unrelenting. "Oh, Luca," he purred mockingly, his voice resonating within their shared body. "Why stop now? You said this was home right? That you could live out your days here? THIS is how a King lives!"

The night stretched on, the village reduced to ash and ruin. By the time the flames finally subsided, Draemoor was no more. The hysterical laughter had faded, leaving only silence. At the center of the devastation, Luca fell to his knees, unconscious, as the black flames receded into his body.

—

I awoke with a gasp, my chest heaving as my lungs greedily drank in the cold air. I pushed myself upright, my limbs trembling under the weight of an unbearable truth I could already feel. 

I was in a crater. Blackened flames still flickered at the edges, stubborn and unnatural, refusing to extinguish even as the chill of the night descended. A sob caught in my throat as I turned my head, my heart sinking into my stomach.

Draemoor was gone.

The village that had once been my sanctuary. The houses were nothing but smoldering husks of wood and stone. The streets where children had played and merchants had made their living were buried beneath debris and scorch marks. And the people...

My gaze landed on the first body. Geralt. He had given me bread the night before, laughing as he waved away payment. Now, Geralt lay motionless, his face frozen in terror, his body charred beyond recognition.

"No..." The word escaped my lips as a whisper, trembling and frail.

I crawled forward, my body refusing to fully cooperate. Every movement sent jolts of pain through me, but I didn't care. I had to see, had to understand, what I'd truly done.

More bodies. A woman clutching a child, shielding them even in death. An elderly couple crushed beneath the weight of their own roof. The merchant who had laughed when I struggled to haggle. The children who had run past me just hours ago, giggling as they played tag. Their faces, once so full of life, now marred by my flames.

My breathing quickened, each inhale sharp and ragged. My hands clawed at the ground, nails breaking as I clutched at the dirt. "No, no, no!" I cried, my voice full of sorrow.

I collapsed onto my hands and knees, pressing my forehead into the scorched earth. My tears fell freely, mixing with the ash and soot that stained my face. "This can't be real..." I whispered, my voice barely audible over the faint crackle of lingering flames. "It wasn't me... I didn't..."

But the truth clawed its way to the front of my mind, no matter how desperately I tried to deny it. It had been me. I could still feel the echoes of Damon's laughter reverberating through my skull, playing on loop. I could still see flashes of it in my mind—the black flames spreading, consuming.

"Stop it!" I screamed, clutching my head as if I could tear the memories away. "Get out of my head!"

But Damon was silent. No taunts, no jeers. Just the heavy, oppressive weight of what I'd done.

My screams turned into sobs, my body wracked with uncontrollable shaking. I pounded my bloodied fists against the ground, the pain a small reprieve from the overwhelming guilt crushing my chest. "Why?" I choked out. "Why couldn't I stop him?"

I had tried. I'd fought tooth and nail against Damon's influence, clawing at every shred of control I could find. But it hadn't been enough. I wasn't strong enough.

"They trusted me..." I whispered, my voice raw. "They trusted me, and I... I killed them."

I curled in on myself, clutching my knees to my chest as if I could make myself small enough to disappear. I didn't deserve to exist, not after this. Not after what I had done.

A faint movement caught my eye, and I turned my head sharply. For a brief, fleeting moment, hope surged in my chest. Someone was alive. Someone had survived. I scrambled toward the source of the movement, my heart pounding in desperation.

It was a girl. She couldn't have been more than eight years old, her small frame half-buried under debris. Her eyes fluttered open as I reached her, and for a moment, we locked gazes. She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

"No, no, no," I muttered, frantically pulling away the debris that pinned her down. My hands were clumsy, trembling too much to work effectively. "You're going to be okay. I'll save you. I promise."

But even as I spoke, I knew I was lying. The girl's eyes were dulling, her life slipping away. I pressed my hands against her wounds, willing my flames to heal, but they refused to obey.

The girl's lips moved again, and this time I heard it, faint and broken. "Why...?"

Her eyes closed, and she was gone.

I froze, my hands still pressed against her lifeless body. Her question echoed in my mind, louder than anything Damon had ever said. Why?

A raw, guttural scream tore from my throat, reverberating through the empty wasteland that had once been Draemoor. I screamed until my voice gave out, until there was nothing left but silence and the quiet crackle of those damned black flames.

And then I wept.