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The High Flier

The High Flier

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The Rise of a New Queen

Alaric’s body burned like the blaze of a thousand suns. Gleaming purple blood flowed down his right arm like a never ending fountain making his shirt stick to his skin. Yet still he remained standing.

“We can stop this all!” He roared through the fog so thick that he could barely see his hand in front of his face. “Just give back the crown to its rightful owner!” 

A murderous scream echoed through the castle and Alraic’s eyes burned as light erupted before him. The fog parted like a curtain as his rival ran closer. Her figure was hidden in a dark cloak, but still Alaric saw no signs of injury. 

Fire blazed in the palms of her hands, powerful and hypnotizing. Alaric could hear it crack and hiss as she moved closer, her entire body shaking with the power she held. 

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“Your people took everything from us!” she screamed while shooting the flames towards Alaric. He moved like a bullet, dodging the balls of fire, letting out a howl as one grazed his skin, burning off his blood soaked shirt. 

The nauseating smell of burning flesh filled the room, yet still his revival kept moving. 

“We were left to fight like muts!” she screeched, tears burning her opal eyes. “Your king deserves no throne,” she spat. 

Fire roared in her hands as she flexed her arms together creating a raging ball of bright ember flames. Her ear piercing scream echoed through the castle as the flames erupted before her. 

“He treated you as muts because that’s what you are!” Alaric choked, thick beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and onto his bright red face. He gritted his teeth while flexing his arm forward, creating a ball of water in his palm and splashing it over his skin. “Your people deserve no place here,” he fumed. “The king did good by expelling you devils.” 

Alaric thrusted his arm forward, creating a wave of choppy water but it did little against his rival’s mighty flames. The womens face turned cold and her eyes seemed to darken as a malicious toothy smile spread across her scaly face. 

“Fine,” she purred. “If devils are what you paint us as then devils we shall be.” Alaric stumbled to the ground, his body practically melting from the heat. The women stalked closer, staring down at Alaric with vengeance in her eyes. She snapped her fingers, igniting a hissing ball of fire, spitting out sparks of flames. 

Alarc looked up to her, blood, sweet, and tears glistening over his skin, making him shimmer under the light from the flames. “Passel needs the king to live,” he choked. 

The woman tilted her head, flexing her sharp, sculpted jaw. “No,” she ordered while thrusting her hand forward, erupting Alaric into ghastly vengeful flames. She stood over his burning body, staring tentatively as his skin turned to ash.  “What Passel needs,” she whispered to the hungry fire, “is a queen.” 


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