Taming the Chaos

Malachar's words hung in the air like a thick poison. I felt something vibrate in Elira's chest—not fear, but pure, thunderous rage.

"Now," I whispered softly as Malachar turned to speak to his guards. "Are you ready?"

Elira nodded, her blue eyes no longer showing any trace of innocence. "Do it."

With a calculated movement, I peeled off the inside of my boot. A small amount of black powder fell into my palm—not much, but enough for what I needed.

I mixed it with the rock dust scattered on the floor, creating an unstable compound.

"When the explosion occurs," I whispered as I rolled the compound into a small ball, "scream as loud as you can. Make them panic."

"No problem," Elira replied in a tone I no longer recognized. "I don't care about acting innocent anymore."

I threw the ball of powder at the nearest black candle.

BOOM!

A small explosion shook the room. The candle burned to a high flame, black smoke billowing across the room. Elira screamed in an ear-splitting voice—not a scream of fear, but a roar of rage that sent shivers down your spine.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Jorik shouted, drawing his sword.

"THERE'S BEEN AN ATTACK!" one of the guards shouted in panic. "LORD MALACHAR, WE'RE BEING ATTACKED!"

Malachar turned, his eyes blazing. "YOU FOOL! THAT'S JUST—"

But the guards were already running toward the door, searching for a nonexistent threat. In the chaos, I used the momentum to slam into the iron pole with all my might.

CRACK!

The crack in the stone widened. The pole swayed.

"NOW!" I shouted to Elira.

The two of us slammed into the pole at the same time. With a roar, the pole collapsed, taking the chains that bound us with it.

"IMPOSSIBLE!" Malachar shouted. "YOU CAN'T—"

He didn't finish his sentence. I was already moving, picking a sharp bone fragment from the goblin corpse. In one fluid motion, I slammed it into the neck of the nearest guard.

Blood spurted. The guard fell with a thunderous gurgle.

"KILL THEM!" Malachar shouted. "KILL THEM NOW!"

But Elira had already moved. She grabbed the sword from the dead guard, and with a surprising move—unlike a temple healer—she beheaded the second guard.

"OH MY GOD!" Jorik cried as he saw his comrade's head roll to the floor. "THIS PRIESTESS IS NO ORDINARY HUMAN!"

"NOT A PRIESTESS ANYMORE!" Elira shouted as she swung her sword at the third guard. The blade pierced the guard's stomach, and she pulled it upward, slicing the guard's body from the stomach to the chest.

Intestines and internal organs splattered to the floor with a wet, revolting sound.

"MONSTER!" Jorik shouted as he backed away.

"YOU'RE TWO MONSTERS!"

"Did you just find out?" I grinned as I grabbed the spear from the dead guard. "Now feel this."

I threw the spear with full force. The sharp tip pierced Jorik's chest, through his heart, and emerged from his back. He stared down with wide eyes, seeing the blood-soaked wood emerging from his body.

"Im… impossible…" he muttered before falling to the floor with a final thud.

Malachar backed away with a mixture of rage and fear in his eyes. "You… you're not ordinary prisoners. You're assassins!"

"No," I replied as I grabbed the spear from Jorik's body. "I am not an ordinary prisoner. But she…" I pointed to Elira who was cleaning the blood from her sword, "she is a priestess. Or used to be."

"Then what happened to her?"

"You changed her," I said, stepping closer to the necromancer. "You killed her innocence. And now you must face the consequences."

Elira stepped beside me, blue eyes blazing with murderous intent. "Where are the other goblins?"

"What?" Malachar backed away again, his back now pressed against the wall.

"WHERE ARE THE OTHER GOBLINS?!" Elira shouted, pointing her sword at Malachar's neck.

"HOW MANY HAVE YOU KILLED FOR YOUR EVIL RITUALS?"

"No… not many," Malachar stuttered. "Only a few dozen—"

SLASH!

Elira severed Malachar's right arm. The necromancer screamed in an ear-piercing voice, blood spurting from the severed arm.

"HOW MANY?!" Elira shouted again, eyes blazing with madness that made me take a step back.

"FIFTY!" Malachar shouted, holding his bleeding arm. "FIFTY GOBLINS IN THE PAST SIX MONTHS!"

"And how many humans?"

"No… no humans. Only goblins and a few orcs—"

SLASH!

Elira severed Malachar's left arm. The Necromancer fell to the floor, screaming in pure agony.

"LIAR!" Elira screamed. "I CAN FEEL THE AURA OF DEATH ABOUT YOU! YOU'VE KILLED HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE!"

"Elira," I said in a warning tone. "Don't lose control."

"Control?" Elira turned to me, eyes ablaze with something inhuman. "Control for what? To let this monster live? To let him kill again?"

"To not be like him," I said softly.

"Too late," Elira smiled a horrifying smile. "I've changed. And I like it."

She held the sword to Malachar's neck. "Now, tell me where your cultists' main base is. How many other necromancers operate in this region?"

"Never!" Malachar shouted in the last shreds of defiance. "You will never stop us! The Darkness will rise! The Ancient One will—"

Elira's sword pierced Malachar's throat, cutting off his words. The necromancer stared wide-eyed, blood pouring from his mouth, before dying with a soft gurgle.

"It's over," Elira said, pulling the sword from Malachar's neck. "Now we're out of here."

"Elira," I said, watching the change in his face. "Are you okay?"

"No," she replied in a flat tone. "But I don't care anymore. I've found a new purpose."

"And what is that?"

"Genocide," she said with a cold smile. "Every cultist, every necromancer, every monster who uses dark magic to harm the innocent. I will kill them all."

"That is not the right path, Elira."

"The right path?" She laughed in a voice devoid of warmth. "The right path is the one that keeps the goblins alive. The right path is the one that keeps monsters like Malachar from being born. But the right path is gone. So I will take the effective path."

The sound of footsteps echoed from the corridor outside the room. Many footsteps. More cultists were coming.

"We must go," I said, grabbing spears and swords from the guards' corpses. "Now."

"No," Elira said, walking toward the door. "We fight."

"Elira, there are too many of them. We will die."

"Perhaps," she nodded. "But we will take as many of them as we can with us."

The door opened, and a dozen cultists in black entered with their weapons drawn. Their leader—another necromancer with a staff glowing with dark energy—stared at the corpses in the room with glowing eyes.

"You have killed Master Malachar," the necromancer said in a low, threatening voice. "You will pay in blood."

"Good," Elira smiled, a sinister smile. "I am thirsty for blood."

She pointed her sword at the cultists, and I could feel the aura radiating from her—an aura that was dark, cold, and hungry for violence.

"Come with me," Elira told me without turning around. "Or die here."