Luxana's heartbeat didn't just shatter-it evaporated, leaving a hollow, echoing void in her chest that sucked the world into a vortex of terror. Her vision warped, the crowd before her stretching into a grotesque tapestry of writhing, leering faces. Their mouths yawned impossibly wide, black pits lined with cracked, yellow teeth, tongues writhing like worms. Their eyes bulged, glassy and bloodshot, leaking viscous tears that sizzled as they hit the scorched ground. The stench of their collective breath-fetid, sour, thick with rot-coated her skin, seeping into her pores, filling her lungs until she could taste their decay on her tongue.
Tears scalded her cheeks, carving burning tracks through the grime and ash caked to her skin. Her body convulsed with silent, animal sobs, her throat raw and torn as she forced herself upright. Every joint screamed, every muscle trembled, yet she rose, a marionette yanked by the strings of agony and rage.
Her white yukata split apart, the threads writhing like living things as they unraveled, dissolving into oily smoke that slithered up her arms and throat. The smoke congealed into armor-a nightmare of regalia: blood-red silk fused with veins of molten gold, jagged jewels that jutted from her flesh like shards of obsidian, slicing her skin so that blood welled and dripped, mingling with the fabric. The crown that formed on her brow was a nest of razors and thorns, each point digging into her scalp, drawing fresh rivulets of crimson.
Her arm rose, trembling violently, and from her palm erupted a sword-not of steel, but of living, screaming flame. The blade howled as it emerged, its surface writhing with faces that twisted and shrieked in silent torment. The heat blistered her skin, the air around it warping, distorting the world into a fever dream of pain and fury.
She swung.
The sword tore a hole in reality itself. The air split with a sound like the rending of flesh and the snapping of bone. The ground beneath her feet erupted in wild, ravenous fire, flames gnawing at the soil, devouring grass, roots, and stone. The inferno surged outward, a tidal wave of destruction that painted the sky with a thick, choking veil of smoke the color of old blood.
The crowd scattered, but not fast enough. Their bodies twisted as they fled, limbs elongating, spines arching, jaws distending in screams that curdled the blood. Luxana pursued, her body moving with inhuman speed, her sword a shrieking banshee that left trails of fire in its wake.
She found Roxana first-her mother's face a mask of terror, eyes wide and uncomprehending as she stumbled and fell, clawing at the burning earth. "Luxana, please-" she gasped, but the words were torn away by the roar of the flames.
Luxana drove the fireblade into Roxana's gut. The blade punched through flesh and bone, erupting from her back in a gout of boiling blood and viscera. Roxana's body spasmed, her mouth opening in a silent scream as Luxana ripped the sword free, molten gore splattering the ground. She stabbed again, and again, and again, each thrust accompanied by a wet, meaty crunch, each sob from Luxana's throat drowned by the symphony of carnage.
Roxana's fingers twitched, clawing at the dirt, then went limp, her eyes rolling back, lips frozen in a rictus of agony.
Her mother-once regal, untouchable-was reduced to a stumbling figure, tripping on a root, sprawling face-first into the sodden, blood-muddied earth. The air was thick with the stench of burning grass, coppery blood, and the sickly-sweet rot of fear. Roxana twisted onto her back, her eyes wide, lips mouthing desperate, silent pleas that dissolved into the choking smoke.
Luxana's grip tightened on the hilt of her flaming sword, the heat searing her palm, the blade's fire reflecting in her glassy, tear-streaked eyes. She drove the burning sword down with a force that split the world. The blade punched through Roxana's stomach, slicing flesh, muscle, and bone with a sickening, wet crunch. Blood fountained upward, hot and syrup-thick, soaking Luxana's hands and wrists, burning her skin with its impossible heat.
Roxana arched, her back bowing off the ground in a spasm of agony, fingers clawing at the sword impaled in her gut. Her nails raked Luxana's wrist, leaving bloody crescents, but Luxana only wrenched the blade sideways, the edge sawing through ribs and organs, nearly cleaving Roxana in half. The sound was a grotesque symphony of tearing meat and shattering bone.
She stabbed again. And again. And again.
Each blow splattered more blood, chunks of flesh, and viscera across the scorched earth. Roxana's face became a ruin, unrecognizable-a mask of gore and pulp, her eyes rolling back as the last shreds of life bled out of her.
Behind her, a whimper-a thin, trembling sound-cut through the roar of the flames.
Luxana spun, her sword shrieking through the air, and found her childhood Nanny cowering behind a burning tree. The woman's eyes were wide with terror, her lips mouthing Luxana's name, but no mercy remained.
With a single, brutal motion, Luxana brought the blade down. The sword split the Nanny from forehead to navel, the body cracking open with a sound like a rotten log splitting in a storm. Blood poured out in a torrent, steaming as it hit the burning grass, the two halves of the Nanny's face peeling apart, revealing glistening bone and twitching muscle before collapsing into the fire.
The flames devoured what was left, turning flesh to blackened ash, the air thick with the scent of charred hair and boiling fat.
Luxana stood over the carnage, her hands slick with blood, her breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps. The world was a hellscape of fire, ruin, and mutilated bodies. The sword in her hand pulsed with a sick, hungry light, eager for more.
And behind her, the shadows writhed, whispering for the next victim.
Luxana spun, her face and armor slick with blood, and the massacre began in earnest.
Luxana staggered forward, the heat of the sword radiating up her arm, fusing with the pulse of her own fury. Blood dripped from her fingertips, painting the scorched earth in sticky, arterial patterns. The air was thick with the iron tang of slaughter and the greasy smoke of burning flesh. She moved through the chaos like a revenant, her breath ragged, her vision tunneled. Every face in the crowd was a mask of terror, every voice a shriek or plea, but none of it reached her. The sword in her hand screamed for more, its blade flickering with the faces of those she'd already slain.
Medea, her former mentor, stumbled into her path, eyes wild with disbelief. Medea reached out, hand trembling, to plead for mercy. Luxana met her with steel. In a single, clean swipe, she sliced off Medea's fingers-bloody stumps spraying crimson. Before Medea could even register the pain, Luxana rammed the burning blade up under her chin, the point bursting out through the crown of her skull. Blood and brain matter pumped out in wet pulses, her mouth gaping wordlessly. Luxana wrenched the sword free, then, with a savage motion, plunged it into Medea's throat, lifting her into the air like a grotesque shish kebab before hurling her twitching body into the flames.
Richard was next. His face twisted with rage and fear as he tried to run, but Luxana hurled her sword like a spear. It pierced his back, skewering his lungs and bursting out of his chest in a messy explosion of ribs and blood. He collapsed instantly, twitching like a puppet whose strings had been violently cut, blood bubbling from his lips as he tried desperately to breathe.
Helios fought back, swinging a blade at her. Luxana caught his arm mid-swing, twisted until the bone snapped audibly, and sliced it off at the shoulder. He howled, agony twisting his face, but she drove her knee into his chest, breaking his ribcage inward with a sickening crunch. Before he could scream, she beheaded him in a single, vicious swing. His head rolled into the fire, eyes still wide and unblinking, lips frozen in a final, silent scream.
The High Priest tried to chant a spell, clutching a holy symbol in trembling hands. Luxana smashed her burning sword through his mouth, jamming the blade up through his lower jaw and splitting his skull vertically. His tongue and teeth spilled out in a molten mess, his prayers dying in a wet gurgle as his robes caught fire and he collapsed.
Leena sobbed for mercy, crawling backward through the mud and ash. Luxana answered by stomping on her knee, shattering it like glass. As Leena shrieked, Luxana ran her through the belly, twisting the blade until Leena's intestines slipped free, her body collapsing in a puddle of gore.
Heron lunged at her, wild-eyed and desperate. Luxana darted aside and hacked through the tendons behind his knees, dropping him screaming into the dirt. She grabbed his hair, smashed his face into the rocks over and over until his skull exploded in a spray of red mist, bone and brain matter splattering across the burning ground. His body twitched, then stilled, blood pooling around him.
A chorus of screams rose around her, some human, some warped into animalistic howls. The crowd tried to scatter, but the flames penned them in, trapping them in a ring of living hell. Luxana's sword flashed again and again, each swing accompanied by the wet, meaty sound of flesh parting, the brittle snap of bone. Limbs tumbled to the earth, torsos split, faces erased in gouts of fire and blood.
One by one, names and faces blurred, reduced to nothing but blood, ash, and the relentless rhythm of Luxana's blade. Her arms ached, her lungs burned, but she could not stop. The sword demanded more, and she gave it everything.
The ground was slick with gore, the air thick with the stench of death and the crackle of flames. Shadows danced on the edges of her vision, whispering, urging her onward. Her crown of thorns pulsed, each jewel drinking in the carnage, glowing brighter with every life extinguished.
When the last body fell, Luxana stood alone, surrounded by ruin. The sword in her hand flickered and died, its hunger sated-for now. She looked down at her blood-caked hands, her armor fused to her flesh, her crown weeping crimson tears.
All around her, the world was silent, save for the hiss of cooling blood and the distant, echoing screams of those she could never forget.
And above, the sky bled, a wound that would never heal.
To be Continued...