Smouldering from my rage, flames begin to coil at the tips of my fingers, rolling and revolving into a solid ball that crackles and splutters in the palm of my hand.
Seething, I line up my aim with the spot that Azrael disappeared and lob the ball of flame with all my might.
"I am going to kill him," I screech, my thoughts going round and round, like a record on loop. Thoughts of destruction, of chaos, of tearing Azrael open with my bare hands and firing his whole body to a neat pile of cinder. Blood draws on the inside of my mouth as I clamp my teeth down on the side of my cheek, but I barely notice the pain. I lob another fireball, and little to my surprise, it does absolutely nothing.
"I'm going to tear his body up, limb from limb, throw his head to the hellhounds, skewer his head on a nice silver platter, and then I am going to kill him."