They swung open the cage door, cattle prods at full power, humming with electricity. The man lazily lifted his hands in surrender. "Now, now." He said softly. His voice was like velvet. "No need. I'll do as you please." The man in the cage said, his...
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Kiril caught sight of Theophania as she scrambled up the stairs- his heart running from him once again. When she was out of sight, he gasped in the smoke filled air, his chest beginning to empty as the smell and taste of her faded from him.
Fire licked at his skin as his eyes darted around the basement, searching for an exit. He could shift and leap the burning beam, but the flames were so high now that he couldn't see the other side and what lay there.
Instead, his gaze latched onto the skinny basement window sitting high up in the wall. He bolted for it, climbing the random furniture and stacks of old, smoldering paper until his fingertips latched onto the edge. The glass was blessedly cool, and he left sweat prints where he grabbed for the lock.
The metal burned. Kiril snatched away his hand and cursed. In his mind, he could feel his packmates dying on the field of battle. Each death was a blow to the heart, and a relief in his mind. His elbow cracked as he brought it down hard against the glass, shattering it in one go.
The fire bloomed, shooting out in all directions from the burning beam, encouraged by the sudden burst of fresh air. Kiril ducked and scrambled out the window, barely squeezing his carbon filled chest through the small gap.
His gasping breaths physically hurt; like a hot poker had been shoved down his gullet and melted into every fiber of his lungs. There was no time to waste. He searched frantically for Theophania, inhaled to try and catch a trace of her lovely scent, but all he could smell was death.
A man approached, his naked figure covered in the same soot they had coated themselves in mere hours before. Their warpaint. Gray to help them blend in with the early morning darkness.
"Kiril!" The man shouted in an all too familiar, informal manner. "I'm sorry, the house, I didn't know you were down there!" he called out over the roar of the flame. "I wouldn't have lit it if I knew!"
Kiril recognized him now, if only faintly. Timothy was their youngest- a mere seventeen. "Are you hurt?" Timothy said, reaching out for Kiril's burned skin.
Kiril grabbed his outstretched arm and twisted suddenly, sending the boy to his knees. Once he was down, he brought a knee up to the boy's face, cracking his nose and sending a gush of blood pouring free to the earth.
The boy cried out in pain, and that only enraged Kiril more. He grabbed the child by the scruff of his neck and dragged him to the edge of the burning building where the heat was unbearable against his skin.
He barely thought as he shoved the boy, screaming, into the fire. Barely registered as his skin blackened and curled and turned to ash to be blown away.
In truth, he hadn't wanted to kill him. Timothy had been a fool, yes, but it wasn't Kiril's own life that concerned him.
