Chapter Forty-one

CONTENT ADVISORY / TRIGGER WARNING

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DEPICTIONS/STRONG IMPLICATIONS OF THE FOLLOWING THAT SOME READERS MAY FIND OFFENSIVE OR DISTURBING:

~ VIOLENCE

~ PROFANITY

~ DEATH AND/OR MURDER

Get down.

Eskil's eyes widened when she twisted her wrist in a circular motion, and he watched as a blue hue started to glow from her palm. He grunted when the man kicked him again, but he did not fight to rise again when he heard the sound of crackling fire. Libelle's hands remained at her sides as red-hot flames erupted around her fists. The flames grew and rose around her arms, slowly engulfing her upper body.

The man at her side shrieked, leaped away from her and patted down his clothes that were now smoking with the magical flames. Her expressionless eyes remained unchanging as she rose to her feet. She stood upright with her hands raised to her waist and her palms facing up. The men who were assaulting the girls stopped their grotesque attack and rushed towards her with curses sputtering past their lips. Even the men who were lingering about the camp ran at her, weapons drawn and the desire to spill blood in their eyes.

The two girls closest to him crawled towards the crying redhead the moment the men's attention was away from them. Eskil looked at them from his spot on the ground, he was lying on his back and feeling worthless. He wanted his wings back. With wings he could soar up out of reach and destroy the entire camp with one pass of his fiery breath. Pathetic. He growled, turning his attention back to Libelle who was still surrounded by flames and the bandit men.

They were throwing curses at her, trying to get close enough to strike her with their blades but the flame was too hot. He watched as the flames around her grew in size and heat, and the hotter the flames grew, the more blue they appeared.

Her flaxen hair waved rapidly about, rising with each gust of magic and framing her delicate yet serious face. She was still staring at him, incredibly focused and concentrated. The men's attacks were futile as they couldn't get close enough to her with their swords and daggers.

The man who had been holding her hostage moments ago cursed and grabbed Libelle's bow that lay in a pile of their loot. He attempted to draw the tight bow, struggling to nock the arrow as he pulled back on the string. "You bitch! Die!"

He was able to draw the string back enough to focus his aim, but he was too late. The time that Libelle had taken to sit silently and be the cooperative pet the bandits thought she was, she had been focusing her racial magic for one of the less common spells that her kind was so proud of. The fiery blaze surrounding her erupted in an explosion that stretched out all around her, sending balls of fire in a complete circle, burning anything and everything it touched.

All the men were scorched by the magical flame as it burned into their flesh and singed their hair. The men all screamed as they tried to run from the flames but it was futile; each man was ablaze and their skin was burning with a putrid stench. Their flammable clothing clung to their skin, burning faster than they could extinguish it. They let out pain-filled screams, a few of the men collapsed in agony while others dropped to the ground and tried to put out the flames. Their screams gradually diminished, quieting to mere whimpers and moans as they succumbed to the excruciating heat and pain.

Libelle exhaled slowly and calmly walked over to one man's charred body and the sword they had attempted to steal from her. She picked up the long and heavy blade, turned back around and approached each man who was still moaning and struggling to breathe through the pain of their seared flesh. She thrust her sword into each of their chests, striking their hearts and ending their pathetic lives. It was all done very quickly.

The bandit group was abruptly eliminated, and it was all for the better. Eskil pushed his sore body back up and sat on his heels as he rubbed his sore jaw. He spat blood onto the soil as he fought to contain the rage that seethed through him. He wanted to scream, to breathe fire into the air and swallow the wretched souls of the men. He wanted to know they would suffer an eternity in torment. Their deaths were not nearly enough to calm him.

Libelle walked past him towards the three crying girls and did not stop to look at him or assess his wounds; nothing he didn't expect. She approached the trio and her hands raised up when they all jumped at her sudden appearance. He watched as she knelt by their sides, the three crying and wailing as Libelle spoke soft words of comfort to them.

He saw the faint glow in her hands, the color a soft white; gentle like her words. She spoke to them while she healed each girl's wounds. She could heal their physical wounds, but she would not be able to heal the psychological wounds or remove the memories they would forever have to live with. She was still emotionless, not reacting to their words when they began to stammer out the murders of the night.